THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


He  turned  his  eyes  again  into  the  North.          Page  16 


BY 

JAMES  OLIVER  CURWOOD 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 

NEW   YORK 


COPYRIGHT  1910 
COSMOPOLITAN  BOOK  CORPORATION 


The  Danger  Trail 


f 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I  THE    GIHL    OF   THE    SNOWS    ....      1 
II  LIPS   THAT   SPEAK    NOT          .        .        .        .14 

III  THE  MYSTERIOUS  ATTACK       .        .        .        .28 

IV  THE    WARNING 39 

V  ROWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT  VISITOR       .        .        .69 

VI  THE  LOVE  OF  A  MAN 88 

VII  THE  BLOWING  OF  THE  COYOTE    .        .        .     106 
VIII  THE    HOTTH   OF   DEATH          .        .        .        .126 

IX  THE  TRYST  140 

X  A  RACE  INTO  THE  NORTH    ....    151 

XI  THE   HOUSE  OF  THE   RED   DEATH         .        .     170 

XII  THE    FIGHT  192 

XIII  THE   PURSUIT  .        .        ...        .        .206 

XIV  THE   GLEAM    OF   THE    LIGHT        .        .         .221 
XV  IN  THE  BEDROOM  CHAMBER  .        .        .    243 

XVI  JEAN'S  STORY 263 

XVII  MELEESE  .    287 


657352 


THE  DANGER  TRAIL 


THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  GIRL  OF  THE  SNOWS 

FOR  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his  life  How- 
land  felt  the  spirit  of  romance,  of  adven 
ture,  of  sympathy  for  the  picturesque  and  the 
unknown  surging  through  his  veins.  A  billion 
stars  glowed  like  yellow,  passionless  eyes  in  the 
polar  cold  of  the  skies.  Behind  him,  white  in  its 
sinuous  twisting  through  the  snow-smothered 
wilderness,  lay  the  icy  Saskatchewan,  with  a  few 
scattered  lights  visible  where  Prince  Albert, 
the  last  outpost  of  civilization,  came  down  to  the 
fiver  half  a  mile  away. 

But  it  was  into  the  North  that  Howland  looked. 
From  the  top  of  the  great  ridge  which  he  had 
1 


climbed  he  gazed  steadily  into  the  white  gloom 
which  reached  for  a  thousand  miles  from  where 
he  stood  to  the  Arctic  Sea.  Faintly  in  the  grim 
silence  of  the  winter  night  there  came  to  his  ears 
the  soft  hissing  sound  of  the  aurora  borealis  as 
it  played  in  its  age-old  song  over  the  dome  of 
the  earth,  and  as  he  watched  the  cold  flashes 
shooting  like  pale  arrows  through  the  distant  sky 
and  listened  to  its  whispering  music  of  unending 
loneliness  and  mystery,  there  came  on  him  a 
strange  feeling  that  it  was  beckoning  to  him  and 
calling  to  him — telling  him  that  up  there  very 
near  to  the  end  of  the  earth  lay  all  that  he  had 
dreamed  of  and  hoped  for  since  he  had  grown 
old  enough  to  begin  the  shaping  of  a  destiny  of 
his  own. 

H]e  shivered  as  the  cold  nipped  at  his  blood, 
and  lighted  a  fr«sh  cigar,  half-turning  to  shield 
himself  from  a  wind  that  was  growing  out  of  the 
east.  As  the  match  flared  in  the  cup  of  his  handa 
for  an  instant  there  came  from  the  black  gloom 
of  the  balsam  and  spruce  at  his  feet  a  wailing, 


THE    GIRL   OF    THE    SNOWS 

huDgerful  cry  that  brought  a  startled  breath 
from  his  lips.  It  was  a  cry  such  as  Indian  dogs 
nake  about  the  tepees  of  masters  who  are  newly 
iead.  He  had  never  heard  such  a  cry  before,  and 
yet  he  knew  that  it  was  a  wolf's.  It  impressed 
him  with  an  awe  which  was  new  to  him  and  he 
stood  as  motionless  as  the  trees  about  him  until, 
from  out  the  gray  night-gloom  to  the  west,  there 
came  an  answering  cry,  and  then,  from  far  to  the 
north,  still  another. 

"Sounds  as  though  I'd  better  go  back  to 
town,"  he  said  to  himself,  speaking  aloud.  "By 
George,  but  it's  lonely !" 

He  descended  the  ridge,  walked  rapidly  over 
the  hard  crust  of  the  snow  across  the  Saskatche 
wan,  and  assured  himself  that  he  felt  consider 
ably  easier  when  the  lights  of  Prince  Albert 
gleamed  a  few  hundred  yards  ahead  of  him. 

Jack  Howland  was  a  Chicago  man,  which 
/neans  that  he  was  a  hustler,  and  not  overbur 
dened  with  sentiment.  For  fifteen  of  his  thirty- 
One  years  he  had  been  hustling.  Since  he  could 
3 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

easily  remember,  he  had  possessed  to  a  large 
measure  but  one  ambition  and  one  hope.  With  a 
persistence  which  had  left  him  peculiarly  a 
stranger  to  the  more  frivolous  and  human  sides 
of  life  he  had  worked  toward  the  achievement  of 
this  ambition,  and  to-night,  because  that  achieve 
ment  was  very  near  at  hand,  he  was  happy.  He 
had  never  been  happier.  There  flashed  across  his 
mental  vision  a  swiftly  moving  picture  of  the 
fight  he  had  made  for  success.  It  had  been  a 
magnificent  fight.  Without  vanity  he  was  proud 
of  it,  for  fate  had  handicapped  him  at  the  begin 
ning,  and  still  he  had  won  out.  He  saw  himself 
again  the  homeless  little  farmer  boy  setting  out 
from  his  Illinois  village  to  take  up  life  in  a  great 
city ;  as  though  it  had  all  happened  but  yesterday 
he  remembered  how  for  days  and  weeks  he  had 
nearly  starved,  how  he  had  sold  papers  at  first, 
and  then,  by  lucky  chance,  became  errand  boy 
in  a  big  drafting  establishment.  It  was  there  that 
the  ambition  was  born  in  him.  He  saw  great 
engineers  come  and  go — men  who  werp  greater 


THE   GIRL   OF   THE    SNOWS 

than  presidents  to  him,  and  who  sought  out  the 
ends  of  the  earth  in  the  following  of  their  voca* 
tion.  He  made  a  slave  of  himself  in  the  nurturing 
juid  strengthening  of  his  ambition  to  become  one 
of  them — to  be  a  builder  of  railroads  and  bridges, 
a  tunneler  of  mountains,  a  creator  of  new  things 
in  new  lands.  His  slavery  had  not  lessened  as 
his  years  increased.  Voluntarily  he  had  kept  him' 
self  in  bondage,  fighting  ceaselessly  the  obstacles 
in  his  way,  triumphing  over  his  handicaps  as  fr  f) 
other  men  had  triumphed,  rising,  slowly,  steaj' 
ily,  resistlessly,  until  now —  He  flung  back  his 
head  and  the  pulse  of  his  heart  quickened  as  he 
heard  again  the  words  of  Van  Horn,  president  of 
the  greatest  engineering  company  on  th~  con 
tinent. 

"Howland,  we've  decided  to  put  you  in  charg* 
of  the  building  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Railroad 
It's  one  of  the  wildest  jobs  we've  ever  had,  and 
Gregson  and  Thome  don't  seem  to  catch  on. 
They're  bridge  builders  and  not  wilderness  men. 
We've  got  to  lay  a  single  line  of  steel  through 
5 


three  hundred  miles  of  the  wildest  country  in 
North  America,  and  from  this  hour  your  motto 
is  'Do  it  or  bust !'  You  can  report  at  Le  Pas  af 
soon  as  you  get  your  traps  together." 

Those  words  had  broken  the  slavedom  for 
Rowland.  He  had  been  fighting  for  an  oppor 
tunity,  and  now  that  the  opportunity  had  come 
he  was  sure  that  he  would  succeed.  Swiftly,  with 
his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets,  he  walked 
down  the  one  main  street  of  Prince  Albert,  puf 
fing  out  odorous  clouds  of  smoke  from  his  cigar, 
every  fiber  in  him  tingling  with  the  new  joy  that 
had  come  into  his  life.  Another  night  would  see 
him  in  Le  Pas,  the  little  outpost  sixty  miles  far 
ther  east  on  the  Saskatchewan.  Then  a  hundred 
miles  by  dog-sledge  and  he  would  be  in  the  big 
wilderness  camp  where  three  hundred  men  were 
already  at  work  clearing  a  way  to  the  great  baj 
to  the  north.  What  a  glorious  achievement  thai 
road  would  be!  It  would  remain  for  all  time  as 
a  cenotaph  to  his  ability,  his  courage  and  in 
domitable  persistence. 

6 


THE   GIRL   OF   THE   SNOWS 

Ic  was  past  nine  o'clock  when  Rowland  ett» 
tered  the  little  old  Windsor  Hotel.  The  big  room, 
through  the  windows  of  which  he  could  look  out 
fin  the  street  and  across  the  frozen  Saskatchewan, 
was  almost  empty.  The  clerk  had  locked  his 
cigar-case  and  had  gone  to  bed.  In  one  corner, 
partly  shrouded  in  gloom,  sat  a  half-breed  trap 
per  who  had  come  in  that  day  from  the  Lac  la 
Ronge  country,  and  at  his  feet  crouched  one  of 
his  wolfish  sledge-dogs.  Both  were  wide-awake 
and  stared  curiously  at  Howland  as  he  came  in. 
In  front  of  the  two  large  windows  sat  half  a 
dozen  men,  as  silent  as  the  half-breed,  clad  in 
moccasins  and  thick  caribou  skin  coats.  One  of 
them  was  the  factor  from  a  Hudson  Bay  post  at 
Lac  Bain  who  had  not  been  down  to  the  edge  of 
civilization  for  three  years ;  the  others,  including 
two  Crees  and  a  Chippewayan,  were  hunters  and 
Post  men  who  had  driven  in  their  furs  from  a 
hundred  miles  to  the  north. 

For  a  moment  Howland  paused  in  the  middle 
•f  t.Vio  room  and  looked  about  him.  Ordinarily  he 
7 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

would  have  liked  this  quiet,  and  would  have  gone 
to  one  of  the  two  rude  tables  to  write  a  letter  OB 
tfork  out  a  problem  of  some  sort,  for  he  always 
carried  a  pocketful  of  problems  about  with  him. 
His  fifteen  years  of  study  and  unceasing  slavery) 
to  his  ambition  had  made  him  naturally  as  taci 
turn  as  these  grim  men  of  the  North,  who  were 
born  to  silence.  But  to-night  there  had  come  a 
change  over  him.  He  wanted  to  talk.  Hie  wanted 
to  ask  questions.  He  longed  for  human  compan 
ionship,  for  some  kind  of  mental  exhilaration  be 
yond  that  furnished  by  his  own  thoughts.  Feel 
ing  in  his  pocket  for  a  cigar  he  seated  himself 
before  one  of  the  windows  and  proffered  it  to  the 
factor  from  Lac  Bain. 

"You  smoke?"  he  asked  companionably. 

*1  was  born  in  a  wigwam,"  said  the  facto* 
slowly,  taking  the  cigar.  "Thank  vou." 

"Deuced  polite  for  a  man  who  hasn't  seetf 

civilization  for  three  years,"  thought  Rowland, 

seating  himself  comfortably,  with  his  feet  on  the 

window-sill.  Aloud  he  said,  "The  clerk  tells  me 

8 


THE   GIRL   OF   THE    SNOWS 

you  are  from  Lac  Bain.  That's  a  good  distanc* 
north,  isn't  it?" 

"Four  hundred  miles,"  replied  the  factor  with 
quiet  terseness.  "We're  on  the  edge  of  the  Bar 
ren  Lands." 

"Whew!"  Howland  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Then  he  volunteered,  "I'm  going  north  myself 
to-morrow." 

"Postman?" 

"No ;  engineer.  I'm  putting  through  the  Hud 
son  Bay  Railroad." 

He  spoke  the  words  quite  clearly  and  as  they 
fell  from  his  lips  the  half-breed,  partly  concealed 
in  the  gloom  behind  him,  straightened  with  the 
alert  quickness  of  a  cat.  He  leaned  forward 
eagerly,  his  black  eyes  gleaming,  and  then  rose 
softly  from  his  seat.  His  moccasined  feet  made 
no  sound  as  he  came  up  behind  Howland.  It  was 
the  big  huskie  who  first  gave  a  sign  of  his  pres 
ence.  For  a  moment  the  upturned  eyes  of  the 
young  engineer  met  those  of  the  half-breed. 
That  look  gave  Howland  a  glimpse  of  a  face 
9 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

which  he  could  never  forget — a  thin,  dark,  sensi 
tive  face  framed  in  shining,  jet-black  hair,  and 
3,  pair  of  eyes  that  were  the  most  beautiful  he 
had  ever  seen  in  a  man.  Sometimes  a  look  de 
cides  great  friendship  or  bitter  hatred  between 
men.  And  something,  nameless,  unaccountable, 
passed  between  these  two.  Not  until  the  half- 
breed  had  turned  and  was  walking  swiftly  away 
did  Howland  realize  that  he  wanted  to  speak  to 
him,  to  grip  him  by  the  hand,  to  know  him  by 
name.  He  watched  the  slender  form  of  the  North 
erner,  as  lithe  and  us  graceful  in  its  movement  as 
a  wild  thing  of  the  forests,  until  it  passed  from 
the  door  out  into  the  night. 

"Who  was  that?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the 
factor. 

"His  name  is  Croisset.  He  comes  from  the 
Wholdaia  country,  beyond  Lac  la  Ronge." 

"French?" 

"Half  French,  half  Cree." 

The  factor  resumed  his  steady  gaze  out  into 
the  white  distance  of  the  night,  and  Howland 
10 


THE   GIRL   OF   THE    SNOWS 

gave  up  his  effort  at  conversation.  After  a  little 
his  companion  shoved  back  his  chair  and  bad* 
him  good  night.  The  Crees  and  Chippewayar 
followed  him,  and  a  few  minutes  later  the  two 
vhite  hunters  left  the  engineer  alone  before  the 
windows. 

"Mighty  funny  people,"  he  said  half  aloud. 
-Wonder  if  they  ever  talk !" 

He  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  knees,  hi& 
hice  resting  in  his  hands,  and  stared  to  catch  a 
sign  of  moving  life  outside.  In  him  there  was  no 
desire  for  sleep.  Often  he  had  called  himself  a 
night-bird,  but  seldom  had  he  been  more  wakeful 
than  on  this  night.  The  elation  of  his  triumph, 
of  his  success,  had  not  yet  worn  itself  down  to  a 
normal  and  reasoning  satisfaction,  and  h'ft  chief 
longing  was  for  the  day,  and  the  day  after  that, 
and  the  next  day,  when  he  would  take  the  place 
of  Gregson  and  Thome.  Every  muscle  in  hi? 
body  was  vibrant  in  its  desire  for  action.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  ten  o'clock. 
<§ince  supper  he  had  smoked  almost  ceaselessly. 
II 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

Now  he  lighted  another  cigar  and  stood  up  close 
co  one  of  th<»  windows. 

Faintly  he  caught  the  sound  of  a  step  on  tht 
board  walk  outside.  It  was  a  light,  quick  step, 
and  for  an  instant  it  hesitated,  just  out  of  his 
vision.  Then  it  approached,  and  suddenly  the 
figure  of  a  woman  stopped  in  front  of  the  win 
dow.  How  she  was  dressed  Rowland  could  not 
have  told  a  moment  later.  All  that  he  saw  was 
the  face,  white  in  the  white  night — a  face  on 
which  the  shimmering  starlight  fell  as  it  was 
lifted  to  his  gaze,  beautiful,  as  clear-cut  as  a 
cameo,  with  eyes  that  looked  up  at  him  half- 
pleadingly,  half-luringly,  and  lips  parted,  as  if 
about  to  speak  to  him.  He  stared,  moveless  in 
his  astonishment,  and  in  another  breath  the  face 
was  gone. 

With  a  hurried  exclamation  he  ran  across  the 
anpty  room  to  the  door  and  looked  down  the 
starlit  street.  To  go  from  the  window  to  the  door 
took  him  but  a  few  seconds,  yet  he  found  the 
street  deserted — deserted  except  for  a  solitary 
12 


figure  three  blocks  away  and  a  dog  that  growled 
at  him  as  he  thrust  out  his  head  and  shoulders. 
He  heard  no  sound  of  footsteps,  no  opening  or 
closing  of  a  door.  Only  there  came  to  him  that 
faint,  hissing  music  of  the  northern  skies,  and 
once  more,  from  the  black  forest  beyond  the  Sas 
katchewan,  the  infinite  sadness  of  the  wolf-howL 


CHAPTER  H 

UPS  THAT  SPEAK  NOT 

HOWLAND  was  not  a  man  easily  suscepfr 
ble  to  a  pair  of  eyes  and  a  pretty  face. 
The  practical  side  of  his  nature  was  too  much 
absorbed  in  its  devices  and  schemes  for  the  build 
ing  of  material  things  to  allow  the  breaking  in 
of  romance.  At  least  Rowland  had  always  com 
plimented  himself  on  this  fact,  and  he  laughed  a 
little  nervously  as  he  went  back  to  his  seat  near 
the  window.  He  was  conscious  that  a  flush  of  un 
usual  excitement  had  leaped  into  his  cheeks  and 
already  the  practical  side  of  him  was  ashamed  of 
that  to  which  the  romantic  side  had  surrendered. 

"The  deuce,  but  she  was  pretty  P*  he  excused 
f&nself .  "And  those  eyes — " 

Suddenly  he  checked  himself.  There  had  been 
more  than  the  eyes ;  more  than  the  pretty  face ! 
Why  had  the  girl  paused  in  front  of  the  win' 
14 


LIPS   THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

dtow?  Why  had  she  looked  at  hiiii  so  intently,  as 
tWragh  on  the  point  of  speech?  The  smile  and 
th*  flush  left  his  face  as  these  questions  came  to 
him  >nd  he  wondered  if  he  had  failed  to  compre^ 
hend  something  which  she  had  meant  him  to  un 
derstand.  After  all,  might  it  not  have  been  a* 
case  of  mistaken  identity  ?  For  a  moment  she  had 
believed  that  she  recognized  him — then,  seeing 
her  mistake,  had  passed  swiftly  down  the  street. 
Under  ordihetry  circumstances  Rowland  would 
have  accepted  *his  solution  of  the  incident.  But 
to-night  he  was  in  an  unusual  mood,  and  it 
quickly  occurred  Jo  him  that  even  if  his  supposi 
tion  were  true  it  ch'^,  not  explain  the  pallor  in  the 
girl's  face  and  th&  strange  entreaty  which  had 
glowed  for  an  instanr  in  her  eyes. 

Anyway  it  was  nowe  of  his  business,  and  he 
walked  casually  to  the  Joor.  At  the  end  of  the 
street,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  a  red  light 
burned  feebly  over  the  front  of  a  Chinese  restau 
rant,  and  in  a  mechanical  fashion  his  footsteps 
led  him  in  that  direction. 
15 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

"I'll  drop  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  he  as 
sured  himself,  throwing  away  the  stub  of  his 
cigar  and  filling  his  lungs  with  great  breaths  of 
the  cold,  dry  air.  "Lord,  but  it's  a  glorious 
night !  I  wish  Van  Horn  could  see  it." 

He  stopped  and  turned  his  eyes  again  into  the 
North.  Its  myriad  stars,  white  and  unshivering, 
the  elusive  play  of  the  mysterious  lights  hover 
ing  over  the  pole,  and  the  black  edge  of  the  wil 
derness  beyond  the  river  were  holding  a  greater 
and  greater  fascination  for  him.  Since  morning, 
when  he  had  looked  on  that  wilderness  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  new  blood  had  entered  into 
him,  and  he  rejoiced  that  it  was  this  wonderful 
world  which  was  to  hold  for  him  success  and  for 
tune.  Never  had  he  dreamed  that  the  mere  joy 
of  living  would  appeal  to  him  as  it  did  now ;  that 
the  act  of  breathing,  of  seeing,  of  looking  on 
Bonders  in  which  his  hands  had  taken  no  part  ir 
the  making,  would  fill  him  with  the  indefinable 
pleasure  which  had  suddenly  become  his  experi 
ence.  He  wondered,  as  he  still  stood  gazing  into 
16 


LIPS   THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

the  infinity  of  that  other  world  beyond  the  Sas« 
katchewan,  if  romance  was  really  quite  dead  in 
him.  Always  he  had  laughed  at  romance.  Work 
—the  grim  reality  of  action,  of  brain  fighting 
brain,  of  cleverness  pitted  against  other  men's 
cleverness — had  almost  brought  him  to  the  point 
of  regarding  romance  in  life  as  a  peculiar  illu~ 
sion  of  fools — and  women.  But  he  was  fair  in  his 
concessions,  and  to-night  he  acknowledged  that 
he  had  enjoyed  the  romance  of  what  he  had  seen 
and  heard.  And  most  of  all,  his  blood  had  been 
stirred  by  the  beautiful  face  that  had  looked 
at  him  from  out  of  the  night. 

The  tuneless  thrumming  of  a  piano  sounded  be 
hind  him.  As  he  passed  through  the  low  door  of 
the  restaurant  a  man  and  woman  lurched  past 
him  and  in  their  irresolute  faces  and  leering  stare 
he  read  the  verification  of  his  suspicions  of  the 
place.  Through  a  second  door  he  entered  a  large 
loom  filled  with  tables  and  chairs,  and  pregnant 
ffith  strange  odors.  At  one  of  the  farther  tables 
sat  a  long-queued  Chinaman  with  his  head  bowed 
17 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

in  Ins  arms.  Behind  a  counter  stood  a  second,  as 
motionless  as  an  obelisk  in  the  half  gloom  of  the 
dimly  illuminated  room,  his  evil  face  challenging 
Rowland  as  he  entered.  The  sound  of  a  pianc 
came  from  above  and  with  a  bold  and  friendly 
nod  the  young  engineer  mounted  a  pair  of  stairs. 

"Tough  joint,"  he  muttered,  falling  into  his 
old  habit  of  communing  with  himself.  "Hope 
they  make  good  tea." 

At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  stair  the 
playing  of  the  piano  ceased.  He  was  surprised 
at  what  greeted  him  above.  In  startling  contrast 
to  the  loathsome  environment  below  he  entered  a 
luxuriously  appointed  room,  heavily  hung  with 
oriental  tapestries,  and  with  half  a  dozen  onyx 
tables  partially  concealed  behind  screens  and 
gorgeously  embroidered  silk  curtains.  At  one  of 
these  he  seated  himself  and  signaled  for  service 
with  the  tiny  bell  near  his  hand.  In  response 
there  appeared  a  young  Chinaman  with  close- 
cropped  hair  and  attired  in  evening  dress. 

**A  pot  of  tea,"  ordered  Hbwland ;  and  under 
18 


£IPS    THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

his  breath  he  added,  "Pretty  deuced  good  for  » 
wilderness  town !  I  wonder — " 

He  looked  about  him  curiously.  Although  it 
Was  only  eleven  o'clock  the  place  appeared  to  be 
empty.  Yet  Howland  was  reasonably  assured 
that  it  was  not  empty.  He  was  conscious  of  sens 
ing  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  the  presence  of  others 
somewhere  near  him.  He  was  sure  that  there  was 
a  faint,  acrid  odor  lurking  above  that  of  burned 
incense,  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  con* 
viction  when  he  paid  a  dollar  for  his  pot  of  tea. 

"Opium,  as  sure  as  your  name  is  Jack  How- 
land,"  he  said,  whon  the  waiter  was  gone.  "I 
wonder  again — how  many  pots  of  tea  do  they 
sell  in  a  night  ?" 

He  sipped  his  own  leisurely,  listening  with  all 
the  eagerness  of  the  new  sense  of  freedom  which 
had  taken  possession  of  him.  The  Chinaman  had 
scarcely  disappeared  when  he  heard  footsteps  on 
the  stair.  In  another  instant  a  low  word  of  sur 
prise  almost  leaped  from  his  lips.  Hesitating  for 
a  moment  in  the  doorway,  her  face  staring 
19 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

iraight  into  his  own,  was  the  girl  whom  he  had 
seen  through  the  hotel  window ! 

For  perhaps  no  more  than  five  seconds  their 
ejes  met.  Yet  in  that  time  there  was  painted  OD 
his  memory  a  picture  that  Rowland  knew  he 
would  never  forget.  His  was  a  nature,  because 
of  the  ambition  imposed  on  it,  that  had  never 
taken  more  than  a  casual  interest  in  the  form  and 
feature  of  women.  He  had  looked  on  beautiful 
faces  and  had  admired  them  in  a  cool,  dispas 
sionate  way,  judging  them — when  he  judged  at 
all — as  he  might  have  judged  the  more  material 
workmanship  of  his  own  hands.  But  this  face 
that  was  framed  for  a  few  brief  moments  in  the 
door  reached  out  to  him  and  stirred  an  interest 
within  him  which  was  as  new  as  it  was  pleasur 
able.  It  was  a  beautiful  face.  He  knew  that  in 
a  fraction  of  the  first  second.  It  was  not  white, 
as  he  had  first  seen  it  through  the  window.  The 
girl's  cheeks  were  flushed.  Her  lips  were  parted, 
and  she  was  breathing  quickly,  as  though  from 
the  effect  of  climbing  the  stair.  But  it  was  her 
20 


LIPS   THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

eyes  that  sent  Rowland's  blood  a  little  faster 
through  his  veins.  They  were  glorious  eyes. 

The  girl  turned  from  his  gaze  and  seated  her 
self  at  a  table  so  that  he  caught  only  her  profile. 
The  change  delighted  him.  It  afforded  him  an 
other  view  of  the  picture  that  had  appeared  to 
him  in  the  doorway,  and  he  could  study  it  with 
out  being  observed  in  the  act,  though  he  was  con 
fident  that  the  girl  knew  his  eyes  were  on  her. 
He  refilled  his  tiny  cup  with  tea  and  smiled  when 
he  noticed  that  she  could  easily  have  seated  her 
self  behind  one  of  the  screens.  From  the  flush 
in  her  cheeks  his  eyes  traveled  critically  to  the 
rich  glow  of  the  light  in  her  shining  brown  hair, 
which  swept  half  over  her  ears  in  thick,  soft 
waves,  caught  in  a  heavy  coil  low  on  her  neck. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  noticed  her  dress.  It 
puzzled  him.  Her  turban  and  muff  were  of  deep 
gray  lynx  fur.  Around  her  shoulders  was  a  col 
larette  of  the  same  material.  Her  hands  were 
immaculately  gloved.  In  every  feature  of  her 
lovely  face,  in  every  point  of  her  dress,  she  bore 
21 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

Che  indisputable  mark  of  refinement.  The  quiz 
zical  smile  left  his  lips.  The  thoughts  which  at 
first  had  filled  his  mind  as  quickly  disappeared 
Who  was  she?  Why  was  she  here? 

With  cat-like  quietness  the  young  Chinaman 
entered  between  the  screens  and  stood  beside  her. 
On  a  small  tablet  which  Rowland  had  not  before 
observed  she  wrote  her  order.  It  was  for  tea. 
He  noticed  that  she  gave  the  waiter  a  dollar  bill 
in  payment  and  that  the  Chinaman  returned 
seventy-five  cents  to  her  in  change. 

"Discrimination,"  he  chuckled  to  himself. 
"Proof  that  she's  not  a  stranger  here,  and  knows 
the  price  of  things." 

He  poured  his  last  half  cup  of  tea  and  when 
he  lifted  his  eyes  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  the 
girl  was  looking  at  him.  For  a  brief  interval  her 
gaze  was  steady  and  clear;  then  the  £ush  deep 
ened  in  her  cheeks;  her  long  lashes  drooped  ay 
the  cold  gray  of  Rowland's  eyes  met  hers  in  un« 
flinching  challenge,  and  she  turned  to  her  tea. 
Hbwland  noted  that  the  hand  which  lifted  the 


LIPS   THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

little  Japanese  pot  was  trembling  slightly.  He 
leaned  forward,  and  as  if  impelled  by  the  move 
ment,  the  girl  turned  her  face  to  him  again,  the 
tea-urn  poised  above  her  cup.  In  her  dark  eyes 
was  an  expression  which  half  brought  him  to  his 
feet,  a  wistful  glow,  a  pathetic  and  yet  half- 
frightened  appeal  to  him.  He  rose,  his  eyes 
questioning  her,  and  to  his  unspoken  inquiry 
her  lips  formed  themselves  into  a  round,  red  O, 
and  she  nodded  to  the  opposite  side  of  her  table. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  seating  him 
self.  "May  I  give  you  my  card?" 

He  felt  as  if  there  was  something  brutally  in 
decent  in  what  he  was  doing  and  the  knowledge 
of  it  sent  a  red  flush  to  his  cheeks.  The  girl  read 
his  name,  smiled  across  the  table  at  him,  and 
with  a  pretty  gesture,  motioned  him  to  bring  his 
cup  and  share  her  tea  with  her.  He  returned  to 
his  table  and  when  he  came  back  with  the  cup  in 
his  hand  she  was  writing  on  one  of  the  pages  of 
the  tablet,  which  she  passed  across  to  him. 

"You  must  pardon  me  for  not  talking,"  he 
23 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

read,   *'I  can  hear  you  very  well,  but  I,  unfor 
tunately,  am  a  mute." 

He  could  not  repress  the  low  ejaculation  of  as 
tonishment  that  came  to  his  lips,  and  as  his  com 
panion  lifted  her  cup  he  saw  in  her  face  agair 
the  look  that  had  stirred  him  so  strangely  when 
be  stood  in  the  window  of  the  Hotel  Windsor. 
Howland  was  not  a  man  educated  in  the  triviali 
ties  of  chance  flirtations.  He  lacked  finesse,  and 
now  he  spoke  boldly  and  to  the  point,  the  honest 
candor  of  his  gray  eyes  shining  full  on  the  girl. 

"I  saw  you  from  the  hotel  window  to-night," 
he  began,  "and  something  in  your  face  led  me  to 
believe  that  you  were  in  trouble.  That  is  why  I 
have  ventured  to  be  so  bold.  I  am  the  engineer  in 
charge  of  the  new  Hudson  Bay  Railroad,  just  on 
my  way  to  Le  Pas  from  Chicago.  I'm  a  stranger 
in  town.  I've  never  been  in  this — this  place  be- 
Jore.  It's  a  very  nice  tea-room,  an  admirable 
blind  for  the  opium  stalls  behind  those  walls." 

In  a  few  terse  words  he  had  covered  the  situa 
tion,  as  he  would  have  covered  a  similar  situation 


LIPS   THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

in  a  business  deal.  He  had  told  the  girl  who  and 
what  he  was,  had  revealed  the  cause  of  his  inter 
est  in  her,  and  at  the  same  time  had  given  her  to 
understand  that  he  was  aware  of  the  nature  of 
their  present  environment.  Closely  he  watched 
the  effect  of  his  words  and  in  another  breath  was 
sorry  that  he  had  been  so  blunt.  The  girl's  eyes 
traveled  swiftly  about  her ;  he  saw  the  quick  rise 
and  fall  of  her  bosom,  the  swift  fading  of  the 
color  in  her  cheeks,  the  affrighted  glow  in  her 
eyes  as  they  came  back  big  and  questioning  to 
him. 

"I  didn't  know,"  she  wrote  quickly,  and  hesi 
tated.  Her  face  was  as  white  now  as  when  How- 
land  had  looked  on  it  through  the  window.  Her 
hand  trembled  nervously  and  for  an  instant  her 
lip  quivered  in  a  way  that  set  Rowland's  heart 
pounding  tumultuously  within  him.  "I  am  a 
stranger,  too,"  she  added.  "I  have  never  been  if 
this  place  before.  I  came  because — " 

She  stopped,  and  the  catching  breath  in  her 
throat  was  almost  a  sob  as  she  looked  at  How- 
25 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

land.  He  knew  that  it  took  an  effort  for  her  to 
write  the  next  words. 

"I  came  because  you  came." 

teWhy  ?"  he  asked.  His  voice  was  low  and  as- 
mring.  "Tell  me — why?" 

He  read  her  words  as  she  wrote  them,  leaning 
half  across  the  table  in  his  eagerness. 

"I  am  a  stranger,"  she  repeated.  "I  want 
some  one  to  help  me.  Accidentally  I  learned  who 
you  were  and  made  up  my  mind  to  see  you  at  the 
hotel,  but  when  I  got  there  I  was  afraid  to  go  in. 
Then  I  saw  you  in  the  window.  After  a  little  you 
came  out  and  I  saw  you  enter  here.  I  didn't 
know  what  kind  of  place  it  was  and  I  followed 
you.  Won't  you  please  go  with  me — to  where  I 
am  staying — and  I  will  tell  you — " 

She  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  her  eyes 
pleading  with  him.  Without  a  word  he  rose  and 
seized  his  hat. 

"I  will  go,  Miss — "  He  laughed  frankly  into 
ber  face,  inviting  her  to  write  her  name.  For  a 
moment  she  smiled  back  at  him,  the  color  bright- 
26 


LIPS   THAT   SPEAK   NOT 

ening  her  cheeks.  Then  she  turned  and  hurried 
down  the  stair. 

Outside  Rowland  gave  her  his  arm.  His  eyes/ 
passing  above  her,  caught  again  the  luring  play 
of  the  aurora  in  the  north.  He  flung  b^ck  his 
shoulders,  drank  in  the  fresh  air,  and  laughed  in 
the  buoyancy  of  the  new  life  that  he  felt. 

"It's  a  glorious  night !"  he  exclaimed. 

The  girl  nodded,  and  smiled  up  at  him.  Her 
face  was  very  near  to  his  shoulder,  ever  mo/e 
beautiful  in  the  white  light  of  the  stars. 

They  did  not  look  behind  them.  Neither  heard 
the  quiet  fall  of  moccasined  feet  a  dozen  yards 
away.  Neither  saw  the  gleaming  eyes  and  the 
thin,  dark  face  of  Jean  Croisset,  the  half-breed, 
as  they  walked  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the 
Saskatchewan* 


CHAPTER  IH 

THE   MYSTERIOUS   ATTACK 

HOWLAND  was  glad  that  for  a  time  there 
was  an  excuse  for  his  silence.  It  began 
to  dawn  on  him  that  this  was  an  extraordinary 
adventure  for  a  man  on  whose  shoulders  rested 
the  responsibilities  of  one  of  the  greatest  engi 
neering  tasks  on  the  continent,  and  who  was  due 
to  take  a  train  for  the  seat  of  his  operations  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Inwardly  he  was 
experiencing  some  strange  emotions;  out 
wardly  he  smiled  as  he  thought  of  what  Van 
Horn  would  say  if  he  knew  the  circumstances. 
He  looked  down  at  his  companion ;  saw  the  sheen 
of  her  hair  as  it  rippled  out  from  under  her  fur 
turban,  studied  the  soft  contour  of  her  cheek 
and  chin,  without  himself  being  observed,  and 
noticed,  incidentally,  that  the  top  of  the  be 
witching  head  beside  him  came  just  about  to  a 
28 


THE  MYSTERIOUS   ATTACK 

level  with  his  cigar  which  he  was  smoking.  He 
wondered  if  he  were  making  a  fool  of  himself. 
If  so,  he  assured  himself  that  there  was  at  least 
one  compensation.  This  night  in  Prince  Albert 
would  not  be  so  uninteresting  as  it  had  promised 
to  be  earlier  in  the  evening. 

Where  the  river  ferry  was  half  drawn  up  on 
the  shore,  its  stern  frozen  in  the  ice,  he  paused 
and  looked  down  at  the  girl  in  quiet  surprise. 
She  nodded,  smiling,  and  motioned  across  the 
river. 

"I  was  over  there  once  to-night,"  said  How- 
land  aloud.  "Didn't  see  any  houses  and  heard 
nothing  but  wolves.  Is  that  where  we're  going?" 

Her  white  teeth  gleamed  at  him  and  he  was 
conscious  of  a  warm  pressure  against  his  arm  as 
the  girl  signified  that  they  were  to  cross.  His 
perplexity  increased.  On  the  farther  shore  the 
forest  came  down  to  the  river's  edge  in  a  black 
wall  of  spruce  and  balsam.  Beyond  that  edge  of 
the  wilderness  he  knew  that  no  part  of  Prince 
Albert  intruded.  It  was  possible  that  across 
29 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

from  them  was  a  squatter's  cabin ;  and  yet  if  this 
were  so,  and  the  girl  was  going  to  it,  why  had 
she  told  him  that  she  was  a  stranger  in  the  town  ? 
And  why  had  she  come  to  him  for  the  assistance 
fine  promised  to  request  of  him  instead  of  seeking 
it  of  those  whom  she  knew? 

He  asked  himself  these  questions  without  put 
ting  them  in  words,  and  not  until  they  were 
climbing  up  the  frozen  bank  of  the  stream,  with 
the  shadows  of  the  forest  growing  deeper  about 
them,  did  he  speak  again. 

"You  told  me  you  were  a  stranger,"  he  said, 
stopping  his  companion  where  the  light  of  the 
stars  fell  on  the  face  which  she  turned  up  to 
him.  She  smiled,  and  nodded  affirmatively. 

"You  seem  pretty  well  acquainted  over  here," 
he  persisted.  " Where  are  we  going?" 

This  time  she  responded  with  an  emphatic 
negative  shake  of  her  head,  at  the  same  time 
pointing  with  her  free  hand  to  the  well-defined 
trail  that  wound  up  from  the  ferry  landing  into 
the  forest.  Earlier  in  the  day  Rowland  had  been 
30  • 


THE   MYSTERIOUS   ATTACK 

told  that  this  was  the  Great  North  Trail  that  led 
into  the  vast  wildernesses  beyond  the  Saskatche 
wan.  Two  days  before,  the  factor  from  Lae 
Bain,  the  Chippewayan  and  the  Crees  had  coma 
in  over  it.  Its  hard  crust  bore  the  marks  of  the' 
sledges  of  Jean  Croisset  and  the  men  from  the 
Lac  la  Ronge  country.  Since  the  big  snow, 
which  had  fallen  four  feet  deep  ten  days  before, 
a  forest  man  had  now  and  then  used  this  trail  on 
his  way  down  to  the  edge  of  civilization;  but 
none  from  Prince  Albert  had  traveled  it  in  the 
other  direction.  Rowland  had  been  told  this  at 
the  hotel,  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  can 
did  bewilderment  as  he  stared  down  into  the 
girl's  face.  She  seemed  to  understand  his 
thoughts,  and  again  her  mouth  rounded  itself 
into  that  bewitching  red  0,  which  gave  to  her 
face  an  expression  of  tender  entreaty,  of  pathetic 
grief  that  the  soft  lips  were  powerless  to  voicf 
the  words  which  she  wished  to  speak.  Then,  sud« 
denly,  she  darted  a  few  steps  from  Rowland  and 
Stoth  *he  toe  of  xher  shoe  formed  a  single  word  in 
31 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

the  surface  of  the  snow.  She  rested  her  hand 
lightly  on  Rowland's  shoulder  as  he  bent  over  to 
make  it  out  in  the  elusive  starlight. 

"Camp !"  he  cried,  straightening  himself.  "Do 
you  mean  to  say  you're  camping  out  here?" 

She  nodded  again  and  again,  delighted  that  he 
understood  her.  There  was  something  so  child 
ishly  sweet  in  her  face,  in  the  gladness  of  her 
eyes,  that  Howland  stretched  out  both  his  hands 
to  her,  laughing  aloud.  "You!**  he  exclaimed. 
uY*w— camping  out  hereP*  With  a  quick  little 
movement  she  came  to  him,  still  laughing  with 
her  eyes  and  lips,  and  for  an  instant  he  held  both 
her  hands  tight  in  his  own.  Her  lovely  face  was 
dangerously  near  to  him.  He  felt  the  touch  of 
her  breath  on  his  face,  for  an  instant  caught  the 
sweet  scent  of  her  hair.  Never  had  he  seen  eyes 
like  those  that  glowed  up  at  him  softly,  filled 
with  the  gentle  starlight;  never  in  his  life  had 
ne  dreamed  of  a  face  like  this,  so  near  to  him  that 
it  sent  the  blood  leaping  through  his  veins  in 
strange  excitement.  He  held  the  hands  tighter, 
32 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    ATTACK 

and  the  movement  drew  the  girl  closer  to  him, 
until  for  no  more  than  a  breath  he  felt  her 
against  his  breast.  In  that  moment  he  forgot  all 
sense  of  time  and  place;  forgot  his  old  self — 
Jack  Howland — practical,  unromantic,  master- 
builder  of  railroads ;  forgot  everything  but  this 
presence  of  the  girl,  the  warm  pressure  against 
his  breast,  the  lure  of  the  great  brown  eyes  ths.t 
had  come  so  unexpectedly  into  his  life.  In  an 
other  moment  he  had  recovered  himself.  He  drew 
a  step  back,  freeing  the  girl's  hands. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  softly.  His 
cheeks  burned  hotly  at  what  he  had  done,  and 
turning  squarely  about  he  strode  up  the  trail. 
He  had  not  taken  a  dozen  paces,  when  far  ahead 
of  him  he  saw  the  red  glow  of  a  fire.  Tlien  a  hand 
caught  his  arm,  clutching  at  it  almost  fiercely, 
and  he  turned  to  meet  the  girl's  face,  white  now 
with  a  strange  terror. 

"What  is  it?"  he  cried.  "Tell  me-—" 
He  caught  her  hands  again,  startled  by  the 
look  in  her  eyes.    Quickly   she  pulled  herseli 
33 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

*wayc  A  dozen  feet  behind  her,  in  the  thick 
shadows  of  the  forest  trees,  something  took  shapt 
and  movement.  In  a  flash  Howland  saw  a  huge 
form  leap  from  the  gloom  and  caught  the  gleam 
of  an  uplifted  knife.  There  was  no  time  for  him 
to  leap  aside,  no  time  for  him  to  reach  for  the 
revolver  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket.  In  such 
a  crisis  one's  actions  are  involuntary,  machine- 
like,  as  if  life,  hovering  by  a  thread,  preserves 
itself  in  its  own  manner  and  without  thought  or 
reasoning  on  the  part  of  the  creature  it  animates,, 
For  an  instant  Howland  neither  thought  nor  rea 
soned.  Had  he  done  so  he  would  probably  have 
met  his  mysterious  assailant,  pitting  his  naked 
fists  against  the  knife.  But  the  very  mainspring 
of  his  existence — which  is  self-preservation — 
called  on  him  to  do  otherwise.  Before  the  star 
tled  cry  on  his  lips  found  utterance  he  flung 
himself  face  downward  in  the  snow.  The  move 
saved  him,  and  as  the  other  stumbled  over  his 
body,  pitching  headlong  into  the  trail,  he 
snatched  forth  his  revolver.  Before  he  cc*llJ  fire 
M 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    ATTACK 

there  came  a  roar  like  that  of  a  beast  from  be 
hind  him  and  a  terrific  blow  fell  on  his  head* 
Under  the  weight  of  a  second  assailant  he  was 
unshed  to  the  snow,  his  pistol  slipped  from  his 
grasp,  and  two  great  hands  choked  a  despair 
ing  cry  from  his  throat.  He  saw  a  face  over 
him,  distorted  with  passion,  a  huge  neck,  eyes 
that  flamed  like  angry  garnet1?.  He  struggled 
to  free  his  pinioned  arms,  to  wrench  off  the  death- 
grip  at  his  throat,  but  his  efforts  were  like  those 
of  a  child  against  a  giant.  In  a  last  terrible  at 
tempt  he  drew  up  his  knees  inch  by  inch  under 
the  weight  of  his  enemy ;  it  was  his  only  chance, 
his  only  hope.  Even  as  he  felt  the  fingers  about 
his  throat,  sinking  like  hot  iron  into  his  flesh, 
and  the  breath  slipping  from  his  body,  he  re 
membered  this  murderous  knee-punch  taught  to 
him  by  the  rough  fighters  of  the  Inland  Seas, 
ind  with  all  the  life  that  remained  in  him  he  sent 
it  crushing  into  the  other's  abdomen.  It  was  a 
moment  before  he  knew  that  it  had  been  success- 
*iil,  before  the  film  cleared  from  his  eyes  and  bt 
35 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

saw  his  assailant  groveling  in  the  snow.  He  rose 
to  his  feet,  dazed  and  staggering  from  the  effect 
of  the  blow  on  his  head  and  the  murderous  grip 
at  his  throat.  Half  a  pistol  shot  down  the  trail 
he  saw  indistinctly  the  twisting  of  black  objects 
in  the  snow,  and  as  he  stared  one  of  the  objects 
came  toward  him. 

"Do  not  fire,  M'seur  Rowland,"  he  heard  a 
voice  call.  "It  ees  I — Jean  Croisset,  a  friend! 
Blessed  Saints,  that  was — what  you  call  heem  ? — 
close  call?" 

The  half-breed's  thin  dark  face  came  up  smil 
ing  out  of  the  white  gloom.  For  a  moment  How- 
land  did  not  see  him,  scarcely  heard  his  words. 
Wildly  he  looked  about  him  for  the  girl.  She 
was  gone. 

"I  happened  here — just  in  time — with  a  club," 
continued  Croisset.  "Come,  we  must  go." 

The  smile  had  gone  from  his  face  and  there 
was  a  commanding  firmness  in  the  grip  that  fell 
on  the  young  engineer's  arm.  Howland  was  con 
scious  that  things  were  twisting  about  him  and 
36 


THE   MYSTERIOUS   ATTACK 

that  there  was  a  strange  weakness  in  his  limbs. 
Dumbly  he  raised  his  hands  to  his  head,  which 
hurt  him  until  he  felt  as  if  he  must  cry  out  in  his 
pain. 

"The  girl — "  he  gasped  weakly. 

Croisset's  arm  tightened  about  his  waist. 

"She  ees  gone !"  Hbwland  heard  him  say ;  and 
there  was  something  in  the  half-breed's  low  voice 
that  caused  him  to  turn  unquestioningly  and 
stagger  along  beside  him  in  the  direction  of 
Prince  Albert. 

And  yet  as  he  went,  only  half-conscious  of 
what  he  was  doing,  and  leaning  more  and  more 
heavily  on  his  companion,  he  knew  that  it  was 
more  than  the  girl's  disappearance  that  he 
wanted  to  understand.  For  as  the  blow  had 
fallen  on  his  head  he  was  sure  that  he  had  heard 
a  woman's  scream;  and  as  he  lay  in  the  snow, 
dazed  and  choking,  spending  his  last  effort  in 
his  struggle  for  life,  there  had  come  to  him,  as 
if  from  an  infinite  distance,  a  woman's  voice,  and 
the  words  that  it  had  uttered  pounded  in  his  tor- 
37 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

hired  brain  now  as  Hs  head  dropped  weakly 
against  Croisset's  sh^lder. 

"Mon  Dieu,  yf  are  killing  him — killing 
him!" 

He  tried  to  r4>eat  thenc  aloud,  but  his  voice 
sounded  only  Jn  an  incoherent  murmur.  Where 
the  forest  c»*ie  down  to  the  edge  of  the  river  the 
half-breed  Mopped. 

"I  mus*  carry  you,  M*seur  Rowland,"  he  said; 
and  as  h  staggered  out  on  the  ice  with  his  inani 
mate  bvtden,  he  spoke  softly  to  himself,  "The 
saints  ^reserve  me,  but  what  would  the  sweet 
Melee*t  say  if  she  knew  that  Jean  Croisset  had 
come  so  near  to  losing  the  life  of  this  M'seur  le 
ngineer?  Ce  monde  eat  plein  de  fous!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    WARNING 

IN  only  a  subconscious  sort  of  way  was 
land  cognizant  of  anything  more  that  hap 
pened  that  night.  When  he  came  back  into  a  full 
sense  of  his  existence  he  found  himself  in  his  bed 
at  the  hotel.  A  lamp  was  burning  low  on  the 
table.  A  glance  showed  him  that  the  room  was 
empty.  He  raised  his  head  and  shoulders  from 
the  pillows  on  which  they  were  resting  and  the 
movement  helped  to  bring  him  at  onc«  into  a 
realization  of  what  had  happened.  He  was  hurt. 
There  was  a  dull,  aching  pain  in  his  head  and 
neck  and  when  he  raised  an  inquiring  hand  it 
teame  in  contact  with  a  thick  bandage.  He  won- 
flered  if  he  were  badly  hurt  and  sank  back  again 
Dn  the  pillows,  lying  with  his  eyes  staring  at  the 
faint  glow  of  the  lamp.  Soon  there  came  a  sound 
at  the  door  and  he  twisted  his  head,  grimacing 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

with  the  pain  it  caused  him.  Jean  was  looking  in 
at  him. 

"Ah,  M'seur  ees  awake!"  he  said,  seeing  the 
wide-open  eyes.  He  came  in  softly,  closing  the 
door  behind  him.  "Mon  Dieu,  but  if  it  had  been 
a  heavier  club  by  the  weight  of  a  pound  you 
would  have  gone  into  the  blessed  hereafter,"  he 
smiled,  approaching  with  noiseless  tread.  He 
held  a  glass  of  water  to  Rowland's  lips. 

"Is  it  bad,  Croisset?" 

"So  bad  that  you  will  be  in  bed  for  a  day  or 
so,  M'seur.  That  is  all." 

"Impossible!"  cried  the  young  engineer.  "I 
must  take  the  eight  o'clock  train  in  the  morn 
ing.  I  must  be  in  Le  Pas — " 

"It  is  five  o'clock  now,"  interrupted  Jean 
softly.  "Do  you  feel  like  going?" 

Rowland  straightened  himself  and  fell  back 
suddenly  with  a  sharp  cry. 

"The  devil!"  he  exclaimed.  After  a  moment 
he  added,  "There  will  be  no  other  train  for  two 
days."  As  he  raised  a  hand  to  his  aching  head, 
40 


THE   WARNING 

his  other  closed  tightly  about  Jean's  lithe  brown 
fingers.  "I  want  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did, 
Croisset.   I  don't  know  what  happened.   I  don't 
know  who  they  were  or  why  they  tried  to  kill  mt 
There  was  a  girl — I  was  going  with  her — " 

He  dropped  his  hand  in  time  to  see  the  strange 
fire  that  had  leaped  into  the  half-breed*]  eyes. 
In  astonishment  he  half  lifted  himself  again,  his 
white  face  questioning  Croisset. 

"Do  you  know  ?"  he  whispered  eagerly.  "Who 
was  she?  Why  did  she  lead  me  into  that  am 
bush?  Why  did  they  attempt  to  kill  me?" 

The  questions  shot  from  him  excitedly,  and  he 
knew  from  what  he  saw  in  the  other's  face  that. 
Croisset  could  have  answered  them.  Yet  from 
the  thin  tense  lips  above  him  there  came  no  re 
sponse.  With  a  quick  movement  the  half-breed 
drew  away  his  hand  and  moved  toward  the  door. 
Half  way  he  paused  and  turned. 

"M'seur,  I  have  come  to  you  with  a  warning. 
Do  not  go  to  Le  Pas.  Do  not  go  to  the  big  rail 
road  camp  on  the  Wekusko.    Return  into  the 
41 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

Southo**  For  an  instant  he  leaned  forward,  biff 
black  eyes  flashing,  his  hands  clenched  tightly  at 
bis  y'des.  "Perhaps  you  will  understand,"  he 
Cried  tensely,  "when  I  tell  you  this  warning  is 
sent  to  you — by  the  little  Meleese !" 

Before  Rowland  could  recover  from  his  sur 
prise  Croisset  had  passed  swiftly  through  the 
door.  The  engineer  called  his  name,  but  there 
came  no  response  other  then  the  rapidly  retreat 
ing  sound  of  the  Northerner's  moccasined  feet. 
With  a  grumble  of  vexation  he  sank  back  on  his 
pillows.  The  fresh  excitement  had  set  his  head 
in  a  whirl  again  and  a  feverish  heat  mounted  into 
his  face.  For  a  long  time  he  lay  with  his  eyes 
closed,  trying  to  clear  for  himself  the  mystery 
of  the  preceding  night.  The  one  thought  which 
obsessed  him  was  that  he  had  been  duped.  His 
lovely  acquaintance  of  the  preceding  evening  had 
msnared  him  completely  with  her  gentle  smile 
and  her  winsome  mouth,  and  he  gritted  his  teeth 
grimly  as  he  reflected  how  easy  he  had  been.  De 
liberately  she  had  lured  him  into  the  ambush 
43 


THE   WARNING 

which  would  have  proved  fatal  for  him  had  it  not 
been  for  Jean  Croisset.  And  she  was  not  a  mute ! 
He  had  heard  her  voice;  when  that  death-grig 
was  tightest  about  his  throat  there  had  come  to 
him  that  terrified  cry :  "Mon  Dieu,  you  are  kill 
ing  him — killing  him !" 

His  breath  came  a  little  faster  as  he  whispered 
the  words  to  himself.  They  appealed  to  him  now 
with  a  significance  which  he  had  not  understood 
at  first.  He  was  sure  that  in  that  cry  there  had 
been  real  terror;  almost,  he  fancied,  as  he  lay 
with  his  eyes  shut  tight,  that  he  could  still  hear 
the  shrill  note  of  despair  in  the  voice.  The  more 
he  tried  to  reason  the  situation,  the  more  inex 
plicable  grew  the  mystery  of  it  all.  If  the  girl 
had  calmly  led  him  into  the  ambush,  why,  in  the 
last  moment,  when  success  seemed  about  to  crown 
her  duplicity,  had  she  cried  out  in  that  agony  of 
terror?  In  Howland's  heated  brain  there  came 
suddenly  a  vision  of  her  as  she  stood  beside  him 
in  the  white  trail ;  he  felt  again  the  thrill  of  her 
hands,  the  touch  of  her  breast  for  a  moment 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

against  his  own;  saw  the  gentle  look  that  had 
come  into  her  deep,  pure  eyes;  the  pathetic 
tremor  of  the  lips  which  seemed  bravely  striving 
to  speak  to  him.  Was  it  possible  that  face  and 
eyes  like  those  could  have  led  him  into  a  death 
trap  !  Despite  the  evidence  of  what  had  happened 
he  found  himself  filled  with  doubt.  And  yet, 
after  all,  she  had  lied  to  him — for  she  was  not  a 
mute! 

He  turned  over  with  a  groan  and  watched  the 
door.  When  Croisset  returned  he  would  insist 
on  knowing  more  about  the  strange  occurrence, 
for  he  was  sure  that  the  half-breed  could  clear 
away  at  least  a  part  of  the  mystery.  Vainly,  as 
he  watched  and  waited,  he  racked  his  mind  to  find 
some  reason  for  the  murderous  attack  on  himself. 
Who  was  "the  little  Meleese,"  whom  Croisset  de 
clared  had  sent  the  warning?  So  far  as  he  could 
remember  he  had  never  known  a  person  by  that 
name.  And  yet  the  half-breed  had  uttered  it  as 
though  it  would  carry  a  vital  meaning  to  him. 
"Perhaps  you  will  understand,"  he  had  said,  and 
44 


THE   WARNING 

Rowland  strove  to  understand,  until  his  brain 
grew  dizzy  and  a  nauseous  sickness  overcame 
him. 

The  first  light  of  the  day  was  falling  faintly 
through  the  window  when  footsteps  sounded  out 
side  the  door  again.  It  was  nat  Croisset  who  ap 
peared  this  time,  but  the  proprietor  himself, 
bearing  with  him  a  tray  on  which  there  was  toast 
and  a  steaming  pot  of  coffee.  He  nodded  and 
smiled  as  he  saw  Rowland  half  sitting  up. 

"Bad  fall  you  had,"  he  greeted,  drawing  a 
small  table  close  beside  the  bed.  "This  snow  is 
treacherous  when  you're  climbing  among  the 
rocks.  When  it  caves  in  with  you  on  the  side  of 
a  mountain  you  might  as  well  make  up  your  mind 
you're  going  to  get  a  good  bump.  Good  thing 
Croisset  was  with  you !" 

For  a  few  moments  Rowland  was  speechless- 

"Yes— it — was — a — bad — fall,"  he  replied  a' 
last,  looking  sharply  at  the  other.  "Where  is 
Croisset?" 

"Gone.  He  left  an  hour  ago  with  his  dogs, 
45 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

Funny  fellow — that  Croisset !  Came  in  yesterday 
from  the  Lac  la  Ronge  country  a  hundred  miles 
north;  goes  back  to-day.  No  apparent  reason 
for  his  coming,  none  for  his  going,  that  I  can 
see." 

**Do  you  know  anything  about  him?"  asked 
Rowland  a  little  eagerly. 

'''No.  He  comes  in  about  once  or  twice  a  year." 

The  young  engineer  munched  his  toast  and 
drank  his  coffee  for  some  moments  in  silence. 
Then,  casually,  he  asked, 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  person  by  the  name  of 
Meleese?" 

"Meleese — Meleese — Meleese — "  repeated  the 
hotel  man,  running  a  hand  through  his  hair.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  the  name  is  familiar — and  yet 
I  can't  remember — "  He  caught  himself  in  sud 
den  triumph.  "Ah,  I  have  it !  Two  years  ago  1 
uad  a  kitchen  woman  named  Meleese." 

Rowland  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

**This  was  a  young  woman,"  he  said. 

"The  Meleese  we  had  is  dead,"  replied  the  pro- 
46 


THE   WARNING 

prietor  cheerfully,  rising  to  go.  "Ffl  send  up 
for  your  tray  in  half  an  hour  or  so,  Mr.  How- 
land." 

Several  hours  later  Howland  crawled  from  hii 
bed  and  bathed  his  head  in  cold  water.  After 
that  he  felt  better,  dressed  himself,  and  went  be 
low.  HSs  head  pained  him  considerably,  but  be 
yond  that  and  an  occasional  nauseous  sensation 
the  injury  he  had  received  in  the  fight  caused  him 
no  very  great  distress.  He  went  in  to  dinner  and 
by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  was  so  much  im 
proved  that  he  lighted  his  first  cigar  and  ven« 
tured  out  into  the  bracing  air  for  a  short  walk. 
At  first  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  make 
inquiries  at  the  Chinese  restaurant  regarding  the 
identity  of  the  girl  whom  he  had  met  there,  but 
he  quickly  changed  his  mind,  and  crossing  the 
river  he  followed  the  trail  which  they  had  taken 
the  preceding  night.  For  a  few  moments  he  con 
templated  the  marks  of  the  conflict  in  the  snow. 
Where  lie  had  first  seen  the  half-breed  there  wert 
blotches  of  blood  on  the  crust. 
47 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

**Good  for  Croisset!"  Howland  muttered ; 
wgood  for  Croisset.  It  looks  as  though  he  usec 
*  knife." 

He  could  see  where  the  wounded  man  had 
dragged  himself  up  the  trail,  finally  staggering 
to  his  feet,  and  with  a  caution  which  he  had  not 
exercised  a  few  hours  before  Howland  continued 
slowly  between  the  thick  forest  walls,  one  hand 
clutching  the  butt  of  the  revolver  in  his  coat 
pocket.  Where  the  trail  twisted  abruptly  into 
the  north  he  found  the  charred  remains  of  a 
camp-fire  in  a  small  open,  and  just  beyond  it  a 
number  of  birch  toggles,  which  had  undoubtedly 
been  used  in  place  of  tent-stakes.  With  the  toe 
of  his  boot  he  kicked  among  the  ashes  and  half- 
burned  bits  of  wood.  There  was  no  sign  of 
smoke,  not  a  living  spark  to  give  ev'. fence  that 
human  presence  had  been  there  for  many  hours. 
There  was  but  one  conclusion  to  make ;  soon  after 
their  unsuccessful  attempt  on  his  life  his  strange 
assailants  had  broken  camp  and  fled.  With  them, 
in  all  probability,  had  gone  the  girl  whose  soft 
48 


THE   WARNING 

eyes  and  sweet  face  had  lured  him  within  theii 
reach. 

But  where  had  they  gone? 

Carefully  he  examined  the  abandoned  camp. 
In  the  hard  crust  were  the  imprints  of  dogs' 
claws.  In  several  places  he  found  the  faint,  broad 
impression  made  by  a  toboggan.  The  marks  at 
least  cleared  away  the  mystery  of  their  disap 
pearance.  Sometime  during  the  night  they  had 
fled  by  dog-sledge  into  the  North. 

He  was  tired  when  he  returned  to  the  hotel  and 
it  was  rather  with  a  sense  of  disappointment  than 
pleasure  that  he  learned  the  work-train  was  to 
leave  for  Le  Pas  late  that  night  instead  of  the 
next  day.  After  a  quiet  hour's  rest  in  his  room, 
however,  his  old  enthusiasm  returned  to  him.  He 
found  himself  feverishly  anxious  to  reach  Le  Pas 
and  the  big  camp  on  the  Wekusfco.  Croisset's 
warning  for  him  to  turn  back  into  the  South,  in 
stead  of  deterring  him,  urged  hint  on.  He  was 
born  a  fighter.  It  was  by  fighting  tbat  he  had 
forced  his  way  round  by  round  up  the  Jadder  of 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

success.  And  now  the  fact  that  his  life  was  in 
danger,  that  some  mysterious  peril  awaited  him 
in  the  depths  of  the  wilderness,  but  added  a  new 
and  thrilling  fascination  to  the  tremendous  tasl 
which  was  ahead  of  him.  He  wondered  if  this 
same  peril  had  beset  Gregson  and  Thome,  and 
if  it  was  the  cause  of  their  failure,  of  their 
anxiety  to  return  to  civilization.  He  assured  him 
self  that  he  would  know  when  he  met  them  at  Le 
Pas.  He  would  discover  more  when  he  became  a 
part  of  the  camp  on  the  Wekusko ;  that  is,  if  the 
half-breed's  warning  held  any  significance  at  all, 
and  he  believed  that  it  did.  Anyway,  he  would 
prepare  for  developments.  So  he  went  to  a  gun- 
shop,  bought  a  long-barreled  six-shooter  and  a 
holster,  and  added  to  it  a  hunting-knife  like  that 
he  had  seen  carried  by  Croisset. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  he  boarded  the 
work-train  and  dawn  was  just  beginning  to  breal 
over  the  wilderness  when  it  stopped  at  Etomami, 
from  which  point  he  was  to  travel  by  hand-car 
over  the  sixty  miles  of  new  road  that  had  been 
50 


THE   WARNING 

constructed  as  far  north  as  Le  Pas.  For  three 
days  the  car  had  been  waiting  for  the  new  chief 
)f  the  road,  but  neither  Gregson  nor  Thome  was 
jeith  it. 

"Mr.  Gregson  is  waiting  for  you  at  Le  Pas,* 
said  one  of  the  men  who  had  come  with  it. 
"Thorne  is  at  Wekusko." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Howland  now 
plunged  into  the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  and  as 
mile  after  mile  slipped  behind  them  and  he 
t,ped  deeper  into  the  peopleless  desolation  of  ice 
and  snow  and  forest  his  blood  leaped  in  swift  ex 
citement,  in  the  new  joy  of  life  which  he  was 
finding  up  here  under  the  far  northern  skies. 
Seated  on  the  front  of  the  car,  with  the  four  men 
pumping  behind  him,  he  drank  in  the  wild  beau 
ties  of  the  forests  and  swamps  through  which 
they  slipped,  his  eyes  constantly  on  the  alert  for 
signs  of  the  big  game  which  his  companions  tolc 
him  was  on  all  sides  of  them. 

Everywhere  about  them  lay  white  winter.  The 
rocks,  the  trees,  and  the  great  ridges,  winch  in 
51 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

this  north  country  are  called  mountains,  were 
covered  with  four  feet  of  snow  and  on  it  the  sun 
shone  with  dazzling  brilliancy.  But  it  was  not 
until  a  long  grade  brought  them  to  the  top  of 
one  of  these  ridges  and  Howland  looked  into  tht 
north  that  he  saw  the  wilderness  in  all  of  its 
grandeur.  As  the  car  stopped  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  with  a  joyous  cry,  his  face  aflame  with  what 
he  saw  ahead  of  him.  Stretching  away  under  his 
eyes,  mile  after  mile,  was  the  vast  white  desola 
tion  that  reached  to  Hudson  Bay.  In  speechless 
wonder  he  gazed  down  on  the  unblazed  forests, 
saw  plains  and  hills  unfold  themselves  as  his 
vision  gained  distance,  followed  a  frozen  river 
until  it  was  lost  in  the  bewildering  picture,  and 
let  his  eyes  rest  here  and  there  on  the  glistening, 
snow-smothered  bosoms  of  lakes,  rimmed  in  by 
walls  of  black  forest.  This  was  not  the  wilder 
ness  as  he  had  expected  it  to  be,  nor  as  he  had 
often  read  of  it  in  books.  It  was  not  the  wilder 
ness  that  Gregson  and  Thorne  had  described  in 
their  letters.  It  was  beautiful!  It  was  magnifi- 
52 


THE    WARNING 

cent!  His  heart  throbbed  with  pleasure  as  he 
gazed  down  on  it,  the  flush  grew  deeper  in  his 
face,  and  he  seemed  hardly  to  breathe  in  his 
cense  interest. 

One  of  the  four  on  the  car  was  an  old  Indian 
and  it  was  he,  strangely  enough^  who  broke  the 
silence.  He  had  seen  the  look  in  Rowland's  face, 
and  he  spoke  softly,  close  to  his  ear,  "Twent' 
t'ousand  moose  down  there — twent'  t'ousand 
caribou-oo!  No  man — no  house — more  twent' 
t'ousand  miles !" 

Howland,  even  quivering  in  his  new  emotion, 
looked  into  the  old  warrior's  eyes,  filled  with  the 
curious,  thrilling  gleam  of  the  spirit  which  was 
stirring  within  himself.  Then  again  he  stared 
straight  out  into  the  unending  distance  as  though 
his  vision  would  penetrate  far  beyond  the  last  of 
that  visible  desolation — on  and  on,  even  to  the 
fifrim  and  uttermost  fastnesses  of  Hudson  Bay; 
and  as  he  looked  he  knew  that  in  these  moments 
there  had  been  born  in  him  a  new  spirit,  a  new 
beinr*  •  that  no  longer  was  he  the  old  Jack  How- 
53 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

land  whose  world  had  been  confined  by  office  walls 
and  into  whose  conception  of  life  there  had  sel 
dom  entered  things  other  than  those  which  led 
directly  toward  the   achievement  of  his   ambi 
tions. 

The  short  northern  day  was  nearing  an  end 
when  once  more  they  saw  the  broad  Saskatche 
wan  twisting  through  a  plain  below  them,  and  on 
its  southern  shore  the  few  log  buildings  of  Le 
Pas  hemmed  in  on  three  sides  by  the  black  forests 
of  balsam  and  spruce.  Lights  were  burning  in 
the  cabins  and  in  the  Hudson  Bay  Post's  store 
when  the  car  was  brought  to  a  halt  half  a  hun 
dred  paces  from  a  squat,  log-built  structure, 
which  was  more  brilliantly  illuminated  thar  any 
of  the  others. 

"That's  the  hotel,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
"Gregson's  theie." 

A  tall,  fur-clad  figure  hurried  forth  to  meet 

Howland  as  he  walked  briskly  across  the  open. 

It  was  G*egson.  As  the  two  men  gripped  hands 

tb«  jDuog  engineer  stared  at  the  other  in  aston- 

54 


THE   WARNING 

ishment.  This  was  not  the  Gregson  he  had 
known  in  the  Chicago  office,  round-faced,  full  of 
Ufe,  as  active  as  a  cricket. 

"Never  so  glad  to  see  any  one  in  my  life,  How*- 
land!"  he  cried,  shaking  the  other's  hand  again 
and  again.  "Another  month  and  I'd  be  dead 
Isn't  this  a  hell  of  a  country?" 

"I'm  falling  more  in  love  with  it  at  every 
breath,  Gregson.  What's  the  matter?  Have  you 
been  sick?" 

Gregson  laughed  as  they  turned  toward  the 
lighted  building.  It  was  a  short,  nervous  laugh, 
and  with  it  he  gave  a  curious  sidewise  glance  at 
his  companion's  face. 

"Sick? — yes,  sick  of  the  job!  If  the  old  man 
hadn't  sent  us  relief  Thorne  and  I  would  have 
thrown  up  the  whole  thing  in  another  four  weeks. 
I'll  warrant  you'll  get  your  everlasting  fill  of 
log  shanties  and  half-breeds  and  moose  meat  and 
this  infernal  snow  and  ice  before  spring  comes. 
But  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you." 

**Can't  discourage  me!"  laughed  Howland 
55 


THL   DANGER    TRAIL 

ebwrfully.  "You  Know  i  i.ever  cared  much  for 
theaters  and  girls,"  he  added  slyly,  giving  Greg- 
son  a  good-natured  nudge.  "How  about  'em  up 
here?" 

"Nothing — not  a  cursed  thing."  Suddenly  hii 
«yes  lighted  up.  "By  George,  Rowland,  but  I 
did  see  the  prettiest  girl  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on 
to-day!  I'd  give  a  box  of  pure  Havanas — and 
ve  haven't  had  one  for  a  month! — if  I  could 
know  who  she  is  P* 

They  had  entered  through  the  low  door  of  the 
log  boarding-house  and  Gregson  was  throwing 
off  his  heavy  coat. 

"A  tall  girl,  with  a  fur  hat  and  muff?"  queried 
Rowland  eagerly. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  She  was  a  typical 
Northerner  if  there  ever  was  one — straight  as  a 
birch,  dressed  in  fur  cap  and  coat,  short  caribou 
jkin  skirt  and  moccasins,  and  with  a  braid  hang 
ing  down  her  back  as  long  as  my  arm.  Lord,  but 
she  was  pretty !" 


THE  WARNING 

*Isn't  there  a  girl  somewhere  up  around  out 
gamp  named  Meleese?"  asked  Rowland  casually, 

"Never  heard  of  her,"  said  Gregson. 

"Or  a  man  named  Croisset?" 

"Never  heard  of  him." 

"The  deuce,  but  you're  interesting,*'  laughed 
•he  young  engineer,  sniffing  at  the  odors  of  cook- 
•ng  supper.  "I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear  ?' 

From  outside  there  came  the  sharp  cracking  of 
a  sledge-driver's  whip  and  Gregson  went  to  one 
•sf  the  small  windows  looking  out  upon  the  clear 
ing.  In  another  instant  he  sprang  toward  the 
door,  crying  out  to  Rowland, 

"By  the  god  of  love,  there  she  is,  old  man} 
Quick,  if  you  want  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  P* 

He  flung  the  door  open  and  Rowland  hurried 
to  his  side.  There  came  another  crack  of  the 
whip,  a  loud  shout,  and  a  sledge  drawn  by  six 
dogs  sped  past  them  into  the  gathering  gloom  of 
••he  early  night. 

From  Rowland's  lips,  too,  there  feH  a  sudden 
•ry;  for  one  of  the  two  faces  that  were  turned 

m 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

toward  him  for  an  instant  was  that  of  Croisset, 
and  the  other — white  and  staring  as  he  had  seen 
it  that  first  night  in  Prince  Albert — was  the  face 
Of  the  beautiful  girl  who  had  lured  him  into  tht 
|«nbush  on  the  Great  North  Trail  I 


CHAPTER  V 
HOWIAND'S  MIDNIGHT  VISITOR 

FOR  a  moment  after  the  swift  passing  of  lh» ' 
sledge  it  was  on  Rowland's  lips  to  shout 
Croisset's  name ;  as  he  thrust  Gregson  aside  and 
leaped  out  into  the  night  he  was  impelled  with  a 
desire  to  give  chase,  to  overtake  in  some  way  the 
two  people  who,  within  the  space  of  forty-eight 
hours,  had  become  so  mysteriously  associated 
with  his  own  life,  and  who  were  now  escaping 
him  again. 

It  was  Gregson  who  recalled  him  to  his  senses 
"I  thought  you  didn't  care  for  theaters — and 
girls,  Howland,"  he  exclaimed  banteringlyc 
repeating  Rowland's  words  of  a  few  minute* 
before.  "A  pretty  face  aff ects  you  a  little  diffett 
ently  up  here,  eh?  Well,  after  you've  been  is 
this  fag-end  of  the  universe  for  a  month  o£  gfc 
you'll  learn — ** 

59 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

Rowland  interrupted  him  sharply. 

"Did  you  ever  see  either  of  them  before, 
,on?" 

"Never  until  to-day.  But  there's  hope,  old 
man.  Surely  we  can  find  some  one  in  the  place 
who  knows  them.  Wouldn't  it  be  jolly  good  fun 
if  Jack  Rowland,  Esquire,  who  has  never  been 
interested  in  theaters  and  girls,  should  come  up 
into  these  God-forsaken  regions  and  develop  a 
case  of  love  at  first  sight?  By  the  Great  North 
Trail,  I  tell  you  it  may  not  be  as  uninteresting 
for  you  as  it  has  been  for  Thome  and  me !  If  I 
had  only  seen  her  sooner — " 

"Shut  up !"  growled  Rowland,  betraying  irri 
tability  for  the  first  time.  "Let's  go  in  to  sup* 
per." 

"Good.  And  I  move  that  we  investigate  these 
people  while  we  are  smoking  our  after-supper 
cigars.  It  will  pass  our  time  away,  at  least."* 

"Your  taste  is  good,  Gregson,"  said  Rowland, 
recovering  his  good-humor  as  they  seated  them 
selves  at  one  of  the  rough  board  tables  in  the  din 
60 


HOWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT   VISITOB 

ing-room.  Inwardly  he  was  convinced  it  would 
be  best  to  keep  to  liimself  the  incidents  of  the 
past  two  days  and  nights.  "It  was  a  beautifu) 
face." 

"And  the   eyes!"   added  Gregson,   his    OWR 
gleaming  with  enthusiasm.     "She  looked  at  me 
squarely  this  afternoon  when  she  and  that  dark 
fellow  passed,  and  I  swear  they're  the  most  beau 
tif ul  eyes  I  ever  saw.  And  her  hair — " 

"Do  you  think  that  she  knew  you?"  askee 
Howland  quietly. 

Gregson  hunched  his  shoulders. 

"How  the  deuce  could  she  know  me?" 

"Then  why  did  she  look  at  you  so  'squarely? 
Frying  to  flirt,  do  you  suppose?" 

Surprise  shot  into  Gregson's  face, 

"By  thunder,  no,  she  wasn't  flirting  I"  he  er» 
claimed.  "I'd  stake  my  life  on  that.  A  man  never 
got  a  clearer,  more  sinless  look  than  she  gave  me,, 
and  yet —  Why,  deuce  take  it,  she  stared  at  mei 
I  didn't  see  her  again  after  that,  but  the  dark 
fellow  was  in  here  half  of  the  afternoon*  and  no* 
61 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

that  I  come  to  think  of  it  he  did  show  some  in 
terest  in  me.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Just  curiosity,"  replied  Rowland  "I  don't 
like  flirts." 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  Gregson  musingly.  Their 
supper  came  on  and  they  conversed  but  little  un 
til  its  end.  Howland  had  watched  his  companion 
closely  and  was  satisfied  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
Croisset  or  the  girl.  The  fact  puzzled  him  more 
than  ever.  How  Gregson  and  Thome,  two  of  the 
best  engineers  in  the  country,  could  voluntarily 
surrender  a  task  like  the  building  of  the  Hudson 
Bay  Railroad  simply  because  they  were  "tired  of 
the  country"  was  more  than  he  could  understand. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  about  to  leave  the 
table  that  Howland's  eyes  accidentally  fell  on 
Gregson's  left  hand.  He  gave  an  exclamation  of 
astonishment  when  he  saw  that  the  little  finger 
was  missing.  Gregson  jerked  the  hand  to  his 
sid?. 

"A  little  accident,"  he  explained.  "You'll  meet 
fem  up  here,  Howland." 
62 


ROWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT  VISITOR 

Before  he  could  move,  the  young  engineer  had 
caught  his  arm  and  was  looking  closely  at  the 
band. 

"A  curious  wound,"  he  remarked,  withou 
looking  up.    "Funny  I  didn't  notice  it  before 
Your  finger  was  cut  off  lengthwise,  and  here's  the 
scar  running  half  way  to  your  wrist.   How  did 
you  do  it?" 

He  dropped  the  hand  in  time  to  see  a  nervous 
flush  in  the  other's  face. 

"Why — er — fact  is,  Rowland,  it  was  shot  off 
several  months  ago — in  an  accident,  of  course." 
He  hurried  through  the  door,  continuing  to 
speak  over  his  shoulder  as  he  went,  "Now 
for  those  after-supper  cigars  and  our  invest!' 
gation." 

As  they  passed  from  the  dining-room  into  thai 
part  of  the  inn  which  was  half  bar  and  haH 
lounging-room,  already  filled  with  smoke  and  f 
dozen  or  so  picturesque  citizens  of  Le  Pas,  tli 
rough- jowled  proprietor  of  the  place  motioned 
to  Howland  and  held  out  a  letter. 
63 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

This  came  while  you  was  at  supper,  Mr, 
Rowland,"  he  explained. 

The  engineer  gave  an  inward  start  when  hf 
saw  the  writing  on  the  envelope,  and  as  he  tort 
it  open  he  turned  so  that  Gregson  could  see  nei 
ther  his  face  nor  the  slip  of  paper  which  he  drew 
forth.  There  was  no  name  at  the  bottom  of  what 
he  read.  It  was  not  necessary,  for  a  glance  had 
told  him  that  the  writing  was  that  of  the  girl 
whose  face  he  had  seen  again  that  night;  and 
her  words  to  him  this  time,  despite  his  caution, 
drew  a  low  whistle  from  his  lips. 

"Forgive  me  for  what  I  have  done,**  the  note 
ran.  "Believe  me  now.  Your  life  is  in  danger 
and  you  must  go  back  to  Etomami  to-morrow.  If 
you  go  to  the  Wekusko  camp  you  will  not  live  to 
come  back." 

"The  devil  P*  he  exclaimed. 
"What's  that?"  asked  Gregson^  edging  around 
dm  curiously. 

Rowland  crushed  the  note  in  his  hand  and 
thrust  it  into  one  of  his  pockets. 
64 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 


"A  little  private  affair,"  he  laughed. 
Gregson,  let's  see  what  we  can  discover." 

In  the  gloom  outside  one  of  his  hands  slipped 
under  his  coat  and  rested  on  the  butt  of  his  re 
volver.  Until  ten  o'clock  they  mixed  casually 
among  the  populace  of  Le  Pas.  Half  a  hundred 
people  had  seen  Croisset  and  his  beautiful  com 
panion,  but  no  one  knew  anything  about  them. 
They  had  come  that  forenoon  ->n  a  sledge,  had 
eaten  their  dinner  and  supper  at  the  cabin  of  a 
Scotch  tie-cutter  named  MacDonald,  and  had  left 
on  a  sledge. 

"She  was  the  sweetest  thing  I  ever  saw,"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  MacDonald  rapturously.  "Only 
sfte  couldn't  talk.  Two  or  three  times  she  wrote 
things  to  me  on  a  slip  of  paper." 

"Couldn't  talk!"   repeated  Gregson,   as   the 
;wo  men  walked  leisurely  back  to  the  boarding- 
louse.    "What  the  deuce  do  you  suppose  that 
Cleans,  Jack?" 

"I'm  not  supposing,"  replied  Rowland  indif 
ferently.    "We've  had  enough  of  this  pretty 
65 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

face,  Gregson.  I'm  going  to  bed.  What  time  do 
Wfr  start  in  the  morning?" 

"As  soon  as  we've  had  breakfast — if  you're 
anxious." 

"I  am.   Good  night." 

Rowland  went  to  his  room,  but  it  was  not  to 
sleep.  For  hours  he  sat  wide-awake,  smoking 
cigar  after  cigar,  and  thinking.  One  by  one  he 
went  over  the  bewildering  incidents  of  the  past 
two  days.  At  first  they  had  stirred  his  blood  with 
a  certain  exhilaration — a  spice  of  excitement 
which  was  not  at  all  unpleasant;  but  with  this 
excitement  there  was  now  a  peculiar  sense  of  op 
pression.  The  attempt  that  had  already  been 
made  on  his  life  together  with  the  persistent 
warnings  for  him  to  return  into  the  South  began 
to  have  their  effect.  But  Rowland  was  not  a  man 
to  surrender  to  his  fears,  if  they  could  be  called 
fears.  He  was  satisfied  that  a  mysterious  peril  o£ 
some  kind  awaited  him  at  the  camp  on  the  We« 
kusko,  but  he  gave  up  trying  to  fathom  the  rea 
son  for  this  peril,  accepting  in  his  businesslike 
66 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT    VISITOR 

way  the  fact  that  it  did  exist,  and  that  in  a  short 
time  it  would  probably  explain  itself.  The  one 
puzzling  factor  which  he  could  not  drive  out  of 
ais  thoughts  was  the  girl.  Her  sweet  face 
foaunted  him.  At  every  turn  he  saw  it — now  over 
the  table  in  the  opium  den,  now  in  the  white  star 
light  of  the  trail,  again  as  it  had  looked  at  him 
for  an  instant  from  the  sledge.  Vainly  he  strove 
to  discover  for  himself  the  lurking  of  sin  in  the 
pure  eyes  that  had  seemed  to  plead  for  his  friend 
ship,  in  the  soft  lips  that  had  lied  to  him  be 
cause  of  their  silence.  "Please  forgive  me  for 
what  I  have  done — "  He  unfolded  the  crumpled 
note  and  read  the  words  again  and  again.  "Be 
lieve  me  now — "  She  knew  that  he  knew  that  she 
had  lied  to  him,  that  she  had  lured  him  into  the 
danger  from  which  she  now  wished  to  save  him. 
.His  cheeks  burned.  If  a  thousand  perils  threat 
ened  him  on  the  Wekusko  he  would  still  go.  Ht 
would  meet  the  girl  again.  Despite  his  strongest 
efforts  he  found  it  impossible  to  destroy  the  vi 
sion  of  her  beautiful  face.  The  eyes,  soft  with 
67 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

appeal ;  the  red  mouth,  quivering,  and  with  lips 
parted  as  if  about  to  speak  to  him ;  the  head  as 
he  had  looked  down  on  it  with  its  glory  of  shin 
ing  hair — all  had  burned  themselves  on  his  soul 
in  a  picture  too  deep  to  be  eradicated.  If  the  wil 
derness  was  interesting  to  him  before  it  was 
doubly  so  now  because  that  face  was  a  part  of 
it,  because  the  secret  of  its  life,  of  the  misery  that 
it  had  half  confessed  to  him,  was  hidden  some 
where  out  in  the  black  mystery  of  the  spruce  and 
balsam  forests. 

He  went  to  bed,  but  it  was  a  long  time  before 
he  fell  asleep.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
scarcely  closed  his  eyes  when  a  pounding  on  the 
door  aroused  him  and  he  awoke  to  find  the  early 
light  of  dawn  creeping  through  the  narrow  win 
dow  of  his  room.  A  few  minutes  later  he  joined 
Gregson,  who  was  ready  for  breakfast. 

"The    sledge    and    dogs    are    waiting,"    he 

greeted.   As  they  seated  themselves  at  the  table 

he  added,   "I've  changed   my   mind  since  last 

night,  Howland.    I'm  not  going  back  with  you. 

68 


ROWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT  VISITOR 

It's  absolutely  unnecessary,  for  Thorne  can  £*»* 
you  on  to  everything  at  the  camp,  and  I'd  rather 
lose  six  months'  salary  than  take  that  sledge  ride 
again.  You  won't  mind,  will  you  ?" 

Howland  hunched  his  shoulders. 

"To  be  honest,  Gregson,  I  don't  believe  you'd 
be  particularly  cheerful  company.  What  sort  of 
fellow  is  the  driver  ?" 

"We  call  him  Jackpine — a  Cree  Indian — and 
he's  the  one  faithful  slave  of  Thorne  and  myself 
at  Wekusko.  Hunts  for  us,  cooks  for  us,  and 
watches  after  things  generally.  You'll  like  him 
an  right." 

Howland  did.  When  they  went  out  to  the 
sledge  after  their  breakfast  he  gave  Jackpine  a 
hearty  grip  of  the  hand  and  the  Cree's  dark  face 
lighted  up  with  something  like  pleasure  when  he 
saw  the  enthusiasm  in  the  young  engineer's  eyes. 
When  the  moment  for  parting  came  Gregson 
pulled  his  companion  a  little  to  one  side.  Hit 
eyes  shifted  nervously  and  Howland  saw  that  he 
was  making  a  strong  effort  to  assume  an  indif- 
69 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

ference  which  was  not  at  all  Gregson'.j  natural 
self. 

"Just  a  word,  Rowland,"  he  said.  "You  know 
this  is  a  pretty  rough  country  up  here — some 
tough  people  in  it,  who  wouldn't  mind  cutting  a 
man's  throat  or  sending  a  bullet  through  him  for 
a  good  team  of  dogs  and  a  rifle.  I'm  just  telling 
you  this  so  you'll  be  on  your  guard.  Have  Jack- 
pine  watch  your  camp  nights." 

He  spoke  in  a  low  voice  and  cut  himself  short 
when  the  Indian  approached.  Howland  seated 
himself  in  the  middle  of  the  six-foot  toboggan, 
waved  his  hand  to  Gregson,  then  with  a  wild 
halloo  and  a  snapping  of  his  long  caribou-gut 
whip  Jackpine  started  his  dogs  on  a  trot  down 
the  street,  running  close  beside  the  sledge.  How- 
land  had  lighted  a  cigar,  and  leaning  back  in  a 
soft  mass  of  furs  began  to  enjoy  his  new  experi- 
ence  hugely.  Day  was  just  fairly  breaking  ovd 
the  forests  when  they  turned  into  the  white  Crai1 
already  beaten  hard  by  the  passing  of  many  dogs 
and  sledges,  that  led  from  Le  Pas  for  a  hundred 
70 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT    VISITOR 

miles  to  the  camp  on  the  Wekusko.  As  they 
struck  the  trail  the  dogs  strained  harder  at  their 
traces,  with  Jackpine's  whip  curling  and  snap 
ping  over  their  backs  until  they  were  leaping 
swiftly  and  with  unbroken  rhythm  of  motion  over 
the  snow.  Then  the  Cree  gathered  in  his  whip 
and  ran  close  to  the  leader's  flank,  his  moccasined 
feet  taking  the  short,  quick,  light  steps  of  the 
trained  forest  runner,  his  chest  thrown  a  little 
out,  his  eyes  on  the  twisting  trail  ahead.  It  was 
a  glorious  ride,  and  in  the  exhilaration  of  it  How- 
land  forgot  to  smoke  the  cigar  that  he  held 
between  his  fingers.  His  blood  thrilled  to  the 
tireless  effort  of  the  grayish-yellow  pack  of  mag 
nificent  brutes  ahead  of  him;  he  watched  the 
muscular  play  of  their  backs  and  legs,  the  eager 
out-reaching  of  their  wolfish  heads,  their  half- 
gaping  jaws,  and  from  them  he  looked  at  Jack- 
pine.  There  was  no  effort  in  his  running.  His 
black  hair  swept  back  from  the  gray  of  his  cap ; 
like  the  dogs  there  was  music  in  his  movement,  the 
beauty  of  strength,  of  endurance,  of  manhood 
71 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

born  ;o  the  forests,  and  when  the  dogs  finally 
stop  ,»ed  at  the  foot  of  a  hug«»  ridge,  panting 
and  half  exhausted,  Rowland  quickly  leaped 
fro»i  the  sledge  and  for  the  first  time  spoke  to 
the  Indian. 

"That  was  glorious,  Jackpine!"  he  cried. 
"But,  good  Lord,  man,  you'll  kill  the  dogs !" 

Jaekpine  grinned. 

"They  go  sixt'  mile  in  day  lak  dat,"  he 
grinned. 

"Sixty  miles!" 

In  his  admiration  for  the  wolfish  looking 
beasts  that  were  carrying  him  through  the  wil 
derness  Rowland  put  out  a  hand  to  stroke  one 
of  them  on  the  head.  With  a  warning  cry  the 
Indian  jerked  him  back  just  as  the  dog  snapped 
fiercely  at  the  extended  hand. 

"No  touch  huskie !"  he  exclaimed.  "Heem  half 
wolf — half  dog — work  hard  but  no  lak  to  be- 
touch!" 

"Wow !"  exclaimed  Rowland.  "And  they're  the 
sweetest  looking  pups  I  ever  laid  eyes  on.  Pro 
72 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 

certainly  running  up  against  some  strange 
things  in  this  country !" 

He  was  dead  tired  when  night  came.  And  yet 
never  in  all  his  life  had  he  enjoyed  a  day  so 
much  as  this  one.  Twenty  times  he  had  joined 
Jackpine  in  running  beside  the  sledge.  In  their 
intervals  of  rest  he  had  even  learned  to  snap  the 
thirty-foot  caribou-gut  lash  of  the  dog-whip.  He 
had  asked  a  hundred  questions,  had  insisted  on 
Jackpine's  smoking  a  cigar  at  every  stop,  and 
had  been  so  happy  and  so  altogether  companion 
able  that  half  of  the  Cree's  hereditary  reticence 
had  been  swept  away  before  his  unbounded  en 
thusiasm.  He  helped  to  build  their  balsam  shelter 
for  the  night,  ate  a  huge  supper  of  moose  meat, 
hot-stone  biscuits,  beans  and  coffee,  and  then, 
just  as  he  had  stretched  himself  out  in  his  furs 
for  the  night,  he  remembered  Gregson's  warning, 
He  sat  up  and  called  to  Jackpine,  who  was  put 
ting  a.  fresh  log  on  the  big  fire  in  front  of  tht 
shelter. 

"Gregson  told  me  to  be  sure  and  have  the 
73 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

camp  guarded  at  night,  Jackpine.  What  do  y 
Jiink  about  it?" 

The  Indian  turned  with  a  queer  chuckle,  his 
leathery  face  wrinkled  in  a  grin. 

"Gregson — heem  ver5  much  'f  raid,"  he  replied. 
"No  bad  man  here — all  down  there  and  in  camp. 
We  kep'  watch  evr*  night.  Heem  'f  raid — I  guess 
so,  mebby." 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

For  a  moment  Jackpine  was  silent,  half  bend 
ing  over  the  fire.  Then  he  held  out  his  left  hand, 
with  the  little  finger  doubled  out  of  sight,  and 
pointed  to  it  with  his  other  hand. 

''Mebby  heem  finger  ax'dent — mebby  not,"  he 
said. 

A  dozen  eager  questions  brought  no  further 
suggestions  from  Jackpine.  In  fact,  no  sooner 
had  tho  words  fallen  from  his  driver's  lips 
than  Rowland  saw  that  the  Indian  was  sorry  he 
had  spoken  them.  What  he  had  said  strength' 
ened  the  conviction  which  was  slowly  growing 
within  him.  He  had  wondered  at  Gregson's 
74 


ROWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 

strange  demeanor,  his  evident  anxiety  to  get 
out  of  the  country,  and  lastly  at  his  desire  not  to 
return  to  the  camp  on  the  Wekusko  with  him. 
There  was  but  one  solution  that  came  to  him.  In 
some  way  which  he  could  not  fathom  Gregson 
was  associated  with  the  mystery  which  enveloped 
him,  and  adding  the  senior  engineer's  nervous 
ness  to  the  significance  of  Jackpine's  words  he 
was  confident  that  the  missing  finger  had  become 
a  factor  in  the  enigma.  How  should  he  find 
Thorne?  Surely  he  would  give  him  an  explana 
tion — if  there  was  an  explanation  to  give.  Or 
was  it  possible  that  they  would  leave  him  without 
warning  to  face  a  situation  which  was  driving 
them  back  to  civilization  ? 

He  went  to  sleep,  giving  no  further  thought 
to  the  guarding  of  the  camp.  A  piping  hot 
breakfast  was  ready  when  Jackpine  awakened 
him,  and  once  more  the  exhilarating  excitement 
of  their  swift  race  through  the  forests  relieved 
him  of  the  uncomfortable  mental  tension  under 
which  he  began  to  find  himself.  During  the  whole 
75 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

of  the  day  Jackpine  urged  the  dogs  almost  to 
the  limit  of  their  endurance,  and  early  in  the 
afternoon  assured  his  companion  that  they  would 
reach  the  Wekusko  by  nightfall.  It  was  already 
dark  when  they  came  out  of  the  forest  into  a 
broad  stretch  of  cutting  beyond  which  Rowland 
caught  the  glimmer  of  scattered  lights.  At  the 
farther  edge  of  the  clearing  the  Ci~°e  brought  his 
dogs  to  a  halt  close  to  a  large  log-built  cabin 
half  sheltered  among  the  trees.  It  was  situated 
several  hundred  yards  from  the  nearest  of  the 
lights  ahead,  and  the  unbroken  snow  about  it 
showed  that  it  had  not  been  used  as  a  habitation 
for  some  time.  Jackpine  drew  a  key  from  his 
pocket  and  without  a  word  unlocked  and  swung 
open  the  heavy  door. 

Damp,  cold  air  swept  into  the  faces  of  the  two 
as  they  stood  for  a  moment  peering  into  the 
gloom.  Rowland  could  hear  the  Cree  chuckling 
in  his  inimitable  way  as  he  struck  a  match,  and 
as  a  big  hanging  oil  lamp  flared  slowly  into  light 
he  turned  a  grinning  face  to  the  engineer. 
76 


ROWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 

"Gregson  um  Thorne — heem  mak'  thees  cabin 
when  first  kam  to  camp,"  he  said  softly.  "No  be 
near  much  noise — fine  place  in  woods  where  be 
quiet  nights.  Live  here  time — then  Gregson  um 
Thorne  go  live  in  camp.  Say  too  far  'way  from 
man.  But  that  not  so.  Thorne  'f  raid — Gregson 
'fraid— » 

He  hunched  his  shoulders  again  as  he  opened 
the  door  of  the  big  box  stove  which  stood  in  the 
room. 

Rowland  asked  no  questions,  but  stared  about 
him.  Everywhere  he  saw  evidences  of  the  taste 
and  one-time  tenancies  of  the  two  senior  engineers. 
Heavy  bear  rugs  lay  on  the  board  floor ;  the  log 
walls,  hewn  almost  to  polished  smoothness,  were 
hung  with  half  a  dozen  pictures ;  in  one  corner 
was  a  bookcase  still  filled  with  books,  in  another 
a  lounge  covered  with  furs,  and  in  this  side  of 
the  room  was  a  door  which  Howland  supposed 
must  open  into  the  sleeping  apartment.  A  fire 
was  roaring  in  the  big  stove  before  he  finished 
his  inspection  and  as  he  squared  his  shivering 
77 


back  to  the  heat  he  pulled  out  his  pipe  and  smiled 
cheerfully  at  Jackpine. 

"Afraid,  eh?  And  am  I  to  stay  here?" 

"Gregson  um  Thorne  say  yes." 

"Well,  Jackpine,  you  just  hustle  over  to  the 
camp  and  tell  Thorne  I'm  here,  will  you  ?" 

For  a  moment  the  Indian  hesitated,  then  went 
out  and  closed  the  door  after  him. 

"Afraid!"  exclaimed  Howland  when  he  had 
gone.  "Now  what  the  devil  are  they  afraid  of? 
It's  deuced  queer,  Gregson — and  ditto,  Thorne. 
If  you're  not  the  cowards  I'm  half  believing  you 
to  be  you  won't  leave  me  in  the  dark  to  face 
something  from  which  you  are  running  away." 

He  lighted  a  small  lamp  and  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  other  room.  It  was,  as  he  had 
surmised,  the  sleeping  chamber.  The  bed,  a 
single  chair  and  a  mirror  and  stand  were  its  sole 
furnishing. 

Returning  to  the  larger  room,  he  threw  off 
his  coat  and  hat  and  seated  himself  comfortably 
before  the  fire.  Ten  minutes  later  the  door 
78 


ROWLAND'S   MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 

opened  again  and  Jackpine  entered.  He  was 
supporting  another  figure  by  the  arm,  and  as 
Rowland  stared  into  the  bloodless  face  of  the 
man  who  came  with  him,  he  could  not  repress 
the  exclamation  of  astonishment  which  rose  to 
his  lips.  Three  months  before  he  had  last  seen 
Thorne  in  Chicago ;  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life, 
powerfully  built,  as  straight  as  a  tree,  the  most 
efficient  and  highest  paid  man  in  the  company's 
employ.  How  often  had  he  enyied  Thorne! 
For  years  he  had  been  his  ideal  of  a  great  en 
gineer.  And  now — 

He  stood  speechless.  Slowly,  as  if  the  move 
ment  gave  him  pain,  Thorne  slipped  off  the 
great  fur  coat  from  about  his  shoulders.  One 
of  his  arms  was  suspended  in  a  sling.  His  huge 
shoulders  were  bent,  his  eyes  wild  and  haggard. 
The  smile  that  came  to  his  lips  as  he  held  out  a 
hand  to  Rowland  gave  to  his  death-white  face 
an  appearance  even  more  ghastly. 

"Hello,  Jack !"  he  greeted.    "What's  the  mat 
ter,  man?    Do  I  look  like  a  ghost?" 
79 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

*' , Vhat  is  the  matter,  Thome  ?  I  found  Greg* 
son  half  dying  at  Le  Pas,  and  now  you — " 

"It's  a  wonder  you're  not  reading  my  name 
on  a  little  board  slab  instead  of  seeing  yours 
truly  in  flesh  and  blood,  Jack,"  laughed  Thorne 
nervously.  "A  ton  of  rock,  man — a  ton  of 
rock,  and  I  was  under  it !" 

Over  Thome's  shoulder  the  young  engineer 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Cree's  face.  A  dark 
flash  had  shot  into  his  eyes.  His  teeth  gleamed 
for  an  instant  between  his  tense  lips  in  some 
thing  that  might  have  been  a  sneer. 

Thorne  sat  down,  rubbing  his  hands  before 
the  fire. 

"We've  been  unfortunate,  Jack,"  he  said 
slowly.  "Gregson  and  I  have  had  the  worst 
kind  of  luck  since  the  day  we  struck  this  camp, 
md  we're  no  longer  fit  for  the  job.  It  will  take 
us  six  months  to  get  on  our  feet  again.  You'll 
find  everything  here  in  good  condition.  The 
line  is  blazed  straight  to  the  bay;  we've  got 
three  hundred  good  men,  plenty  of  supplies,  and 
80 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT    VISITOR 

so  far  as  I  know  you'll  not  find  a  disaffected 
hand  on  the  Wekusko.  Probably  Gregson  and 
I  will  take  hold  of  the  Le  Pas  end  of  the  line  in 
the  spring.  It's  certainly  up  to  you  to  build 
the  roadway  to  the  bay." 

»/  •/ 

"I'm  sorry  things  have  gone  badly,"  replied 
Howland.  He  leaned  forward  until  his  face 
was  close  to  his  companion's.  "Thome,  is  there 
a  man  up  here  named  Croisset — or  a  girl  called 
Meleese?" 

He  watched  the  senior  engineer  closely.  Noth 
ing  to  confirm  his  suspicions  came  into  Thome's 
face.  Thorne  looked  up,  a  little  surprised  at  the 
tone  of  the  other's  voice. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  Jack.  There  may  be  a 
man  named  Croisset  among  our  three  hundred 
workers — you  can  tell  by  looking  at  che  pay 
roll.  There  are  fifteen  or  twer/ty  married  men 
among  us  and  they  ha,ve  families.  Gregson 
knows  more  about  the  girls  than  I.  Anything 
particular?" 

"Just  a  word  I've  got  for  them — i£  they're 


THE  DANGER   TRAIL 

here,"  replied  Howland  carelessly.  "Are  these 
my  quarters  ?" 

"If  you  like  them.  When  I  got  hurt  w; 
moved  up  among  the  men.  Brought  us  intr 
closer  touch  with  the  working  end,  you  know.'' 

"You  and  Gregson  must  have  been  laid  up 
at  about  the  same  time,"  said  the  young  engineer. 
"That  was  a  painful  wound  of  Gregson's.  I 
wonder  who  the  deuce  it  was  who  shot  him? 
Funny  that  a  man  like  Gregson  should  have  an 
enemy !" 

Thorne  sat  up  with  a  jerk.  There  came  the 
rattle  of  a  pan  from  the  stove,  and  Howland 
turned  his  head  in  time  to  see  Jackpine  staring 
at  him  as  though  he  had  exploded  a  mine  under 
his  feet. 

"Who  shot  him  ?"  gasped  the  senior  engineer. 
"Why — er — didn't  Gregson  tell  you  that  it  was 
an  accident?" 

"Why  should  he  lie,  Thorne?" 

A  faint  flush  swept  into  the  other's  pallic 
face.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  penetrating 
82 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 

glare  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  Howlaud.  Jack- 
pine  still  stood  silent  and  motionless  beside  the 
'stove. 

"He  told  me  that  it  was  an  accident,"  said 
Thorne  at  last. 

"Funny,"  was  all  that  Howland  said,  turning 
to  the  Indian  as  though  the  matter  was  of  no  im 
portance.  "Ah,  Jackpine,  I'm  glad  to  see  the 
coffee-pot  on.  I've  got  a  box  of  the  bl&ckest 
and  mildest  Porto  Ricans  you  ever  laid  eyes  on 
in  my  kit,  Thorne,  and  we'll  open  'em  up  for  a 
good  smoke  after  supper.  Hello,  why  have  you 
got  boards  nailed  over  that  window  ?" 

For  the  first  time  Howland  noticed  that  the 
thin  muslin  curtain,  which  he  thought  had 
screened  a  window,  concealed,  in  place  of  a  win 
dow,  a  carefully  fitted  barricade  of  plank.  A  sud 
den  thrill  shot  through  him  as  he  rose  to  examine 
•t.  With  his  back  toward  Thorne  he  said,  half 
laughing,  "Perhaps  Gregson  was  afraid  that 
the  fellow  who  clipped  off  his  finger  would  get 
him  through  the  window,  eh?" 
83 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

He  pretended  not  to  perceive  the  effect  of  his 
words  on  the  senior  engineer.  The  two  sat  down 
to  supper  and  for  an  hour  after  they  had  finishec 
they  smoked  and  talked  on  the  business  of  thf 
camp.  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Thorne  and  Jack~ 
pine  left  the  cabin. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone  than  Howland  closed 
and  barred  the  door,  lighted  another  cigar,  and 
began  pacing  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room. 
Already  there  were  developments.  Gregson  had 
lied  to  him  about  his  finger.  Thorne  had  lied  to 
him  about  his  own  injuries,  whatever  they  were. 
He  was  certain  of  these  two  things— -'and  of  more. 
The  two  senior  engineers  were  not  leaving  the 
Wekusko  because  of  mere  dissatisfaction  with 
the  work  and  country.  They  were  fleeing.  And 
for  some  reason  they  were  keeping  from  him  the 
real  motive  for  their  flight.  Was  it  possible  that 
they  were  deliberately  sacrificing  him  in  order  to 
save  themselves?  He  could  not  bring  himself  to 
believe  this,  notwithstanding  the  evidence  against 
them.  Both  were  men  of  irreproachable  honor. 
84 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT   VISITOR 

Thome,  especially,  was  a  man  of  indomitable 
nerve — a  man  who  would  be  the  last  in  the  world 
to  prove  treacherous  to  a  business  associate  or  a 
friend.  He  was  sure  that  neither  of  them  knew 
of  Croisset  or  of  the  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had 
met  at  Prince  Albert,  which  led  him  to  believe 
that  there  were  other  characters  in  the  strange 
plot  in  which  he  had  become  involved  besides 
those  whom  he  had  encountered  on  the  Great 
North  Trail.  Again  he  examined  the  barricaded 
window  and  he  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that 
his  chance  hit  at  Thorne  had  struck  true. 

He  was  tired  from  his  long  day's  travel  but 
little  inclination  to  sleep  came  to  him,  and  stretch 
ing  himself  out  on  the  lounge  with  his  head  and 
shoulders  bolstered  up  with  furs,  he  continued  to 
smoke  and  think.  He  was  surprised  when  a  little 
>clock  tinkled  the  hour  of  eleven.  He  had  not  seen 
the  clock  before.  Now  he  listened  to  the  faint 
monotonous  ticking  it  made  close  to  his  head  un 
til  he  felt  an  impelling  drowsiness  creeping  over 
him  and  he  closed  his  eyes.  He  was  almost  asleep 
85 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

when  it  struck  again — softly,  and  yet  with  suffi 
cient  loudness  to  arouse  him.  It  had  struck 
twelve. 

With  an  effort  Howland  overcame  his  drows* 
ness  and  dragged  himself  to  a  sitting  postun. 
knowing  that  he  should  undress  and  go  to  bed. 
The  lamp  was  still  burning  brightly  and  he  arose 
to  turn  down  the  wick.  Suddenly  he  stopped.  To 
his  dulled  senses  there  came  distinctly  the  sound 
of  a  knock  at  the  door.  For  a  few  moments  he 
waited,  silent  and  motionless.  It  came  again, 
louder  than  before,  and  yet  in  it  there  was  some 
thing  of  caution.  It  was  not  the  heavy  tattoo  of 
one  who  had  come  to  awaken  him  on  £  matter  of 
business. 

Who  could  be  his  midnight  visitor?  Softly 
Howland  went  back  to  his  heavy  coat  and  slipped 
his  small  revolver  into  his  hip  pocket.  The 
knock  came  again.  Then  he  walked  to  the  door, 
shot  back  the  bolt,  and,  with  his  right  hanc 
gripping  the  butt  of  his  pistol,  flung  it  wide 
open. 

86 


ROWLAND'S    MIDNIGHT    VISITOR 

For  a  moment  he  stood  transfixed,  staring 
speechlessly  at  a  white,  startled  face  lighted  up 
by  the  glow  of  the  oil  lamp.  Bewildered  to  the 
point  of  dumbness,  he  backed  slowly,  holding 
the  door  open,  and  there  entered  the  one  person  in 
all  the  world  whom  he  wished  most  to  see — she 
who  had  become  so  strangely  a  part  of  his  life 
since  that  first  night  at  Prince  Albert,  and  whose 
sweet  face  was  holding  a  deeper  meaning  for 
him  with  every  hour  that  he  lived.  He  closed 
the  door  and  turned,  still  without  speaking; 
and,  impelled  by  a  sudden  spirit  that  sent  the 
blood  thrilling  through  his  veins,  he  held  out 
both  hands  to  the  girl  for  whom  he  now  knew 
that  he  was  willing  to  face  all  of  the  perils 
that  might  await  him  between  civilisation  and  the 
bay. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THK  LOVE  OP  A  MAN 

FOR  a  moment  the  girl  hesitated,  her  un 
gloved  hands  clenched  on  her  breast,  he/ 
bloodless  face  tense  with  a  strange  grief,  as 
she  saw  the  outstretched  arms  of  the  man  whom 
her  treachery  had  almost  lured  to  his  death. 
Then,  slowly,  she  approached,  and  once  more 
Howland  held  her  hands  clasped  to  him  and 
gazed  questioningly  down  into  the  wild  eyes 
that  stared  into  his  own. 

"Why  did  you  run  away  from  me?"  were  the 
first  words  that  he  spoke.  They  came  from  him 
gently,  as  if  he  had  known  her  for  a  long  time, 
in  them  there  was  no  tone  of  bitterness ;  in  the 
warmth  of  his  gray  eyes  there  was  none  of  the 
denunciation  which  she  might  have  expected. 
He  repeated  the  question,  bending  his  head  until 


THE   LOVE    OF   A   MAN 

he  feft  the  soft  touch  of  her  hair  on  his  lips. 
"Why  did  you  run  away  from  me?" 

She  drew  away  from  him,  her  eyes  searching 
his  face. 

"I  lied  to  you,"  she  breathed,  her  words  com 
ing  to  him  in  a  whisper.    "I  lied — " 

The  words  caught  in  her  throat.  He  saw  her 
struggling  to  control  herself,  to  stop  the  quiver 
ing  of  her  lip,  the  tremble  in  her  voice.  In  an 
other  moment  she  had  broken  down,  and  with  a 
low,  sobbing  cry  sank  in  a  chair  beside  the 
table  and  buried  her  head  in  her  arms.  As 
Howland  saw  the  convulsive  trembling  of  her 
shoulders,  his  soul  was  flooded  with  a  strange 
joy- — not  at  this  sight  of  her  grief,  but  at  the 
knowledge  that  she  was  sorry  for  what  she  had 
done.  Softly  he  approached.  The  girl's  fur 
cap  had  fallen  off.  Her  long,  shining  braid 
was  half  undone  and  its  silken  strands  fell  over 
her  shoulder  and  glistened  in  thi  lamp-glow 
on  the  table.  His  hand  hesitated,  and  then  fell 
gently  on  the  bowed  head. 
KQ 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

"Sometimes  the  friend  who  lies  is  the  otrfy 
friend  who's  true,"  he  said.  "I  believe  that  it 
was  necessary  for  you  to — lie." 

Just  once  his  hand  stroked  her  soft  hair,  then, 
catching  himself,  he  went  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  narrow  table  and  sat  down.  When  the 
girl  raised  her  head  there  was  a  bright  flush  in 
her  cheeks.  He  could  see  the  damp  stain  of 
tears  on  her  face,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  them 
now  in  the  eyes  that  seemed  seeking  in  his  own 
the  truth  of  his  words,  spoken  a  few  momenta 
before. 

"You  believe  that?"  she  questioned  eagerly* 
"You  believe  that  it  was  necessary  for  me  to~- 
lie?"  She  leaned  a  little  toward  him,  her  fingers 
twining  themselves  about  one  another  nervously^ 
as  she  waited  for  him  to  answer. 

"Yes,"  said  Howland.  He  spoke  the  one  word 
with  a  finality  that  sent  a  gladness  into  the  soft 
brown  eyes  across  from  him.  "I  believe  that  you 
had  to  lie  to  me." 

His  low  voice  was  vibrant  with  unbounded 
90 


THE    LOVE    OF   A   MAN 

faiih.  Other  words  were  on  his  lips,  but  h* 
forced  them  back.  A  part  of  what  he  might 
have  said — a  part  of  the  strange,  joyous  tumuli 
in  his  heart — betrayed  itself  in  his  face,  anc 
before  that  betrayal  the  girl  drew  back  slowly, 
the  color  fading  from  her  cheeks. 

"And  I  believe  you  will  not  lie  t(  me  again,'* 
he  said. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  flung  b*  ck  her  hair, 
looking  down  on  him  in  the  ma?mer  of  one 
who  had  never  before  met  this  kind  of  man,  and 
knew  not  what  to  make  of  him. 

"No,  I  will  not  lie  to  you  again,' '  she  replied, 
more  firmly.  "Do  you  believe  me  n<  »w?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  go  back  into  the  South.  I  have  come 
to  tell  you  that  again  to-night — to  make  you 
believe  me.  You  should  have  turned  back  at  Li 
Pas.  If  you  don't  go — to-morrow — " 

Her  voice  seemed  to  choke  her,  and  she  stoo< 
without   finishing,  leaving  him  to  understand 
she  had  meant  to  say.    In  ao  instant  How 
91 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

land  was  at  her  side.  Once  more  his  old,  reso 
lute  fighting  blood  was  up.  Firmly  he  took  her 
hands  again,  his  eyes  compelling  her  to  look 
up  at  him. 

"If  I  don't  go  to-morrow — they  will  kill  me," 
he  completed,  repeating  the  words  of  her  note 
to  him.  "Now,  if  you  are  going  to  be  honest 
with  me,  tell  me  this — who  is  going  to  kill  me, 
and  why?" 

He  felt  a  convulsive  shudder  pass  through 
her  as  she  answered, 

"I  said  that  I  would  not  lie  to  you  again.  If 
I  can  not  tell  you  the  truth  I  will  tell  you  noth 
ing.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  why  your 
life  is  in  danger." 

"But  you  know?" 

"Yes." 

He  seated  her  again  in  the  chair  beside  the 
fable  and  sat  down  opposite  her. 

"Will  you  tell  me  who  you  are?" 

She  hesitated,  twisting  her  fingers  nervously 
in  a  silken  strand  of  her  hair. 
92 


THE   LOVE   OF   A   MAN 

"Will  you?"  he  persisted. 

"If  I  tell  you  who  I  am,"  she  said  at  last» 
"you  will  know  who  is  threatening  your  life." 

He  staged  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"The  devil,  you  say!"  The  words  slipped 
from  his  lips  before  he  could  stop  them.  For 
a  second  time  the  girl  rose  from  her  chair. 

"You  will  go?"  she  entreated.  "You  will  go 
to-morrow?" 

Her  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the  door. 

"You  will  go?" 

He  had  risen,  and  was  lighting  a  cigar  over 
the  chimney  of  the  lamp.  Laughing,  he  came 
toward  tar. 

"Yes,  surely  I  am  going — to  see  you  safely 
home.*'  Suddenly  he  turned  back  to  the  lounge 
and  belted  on  his  revolver  and  holster.  When 
he  returned  she  barred  his  way  defiantly,  her 
back  against  the  door. 

"You  can  not  go  1" 

"Why?" 

"Because — "  He  caught  the  frightened 
93 


THE  DANGER   TRAIL 

flutter  of  her  voice  again.  "Because  they  «X> 
kill  you!" 

The  low  laugh  that  he  breathed  in  her  hail 
IT  as  more  of  joy  than  fear. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  care,"  he  whispered  to  her 
softly. 

"You  must  go !"  she  still  persisted. 

"With  you,  yes,*'  he  answered. 

"No,  no — to-morrow.  You  must  go  b«ck  to 
Le  Pas — back  into  the  South.  Will  you  prom 
ise  me  that?" 

"Perhaps,"  he  said.  "I  will  tell  you  soon." 
She  surrendered  to  the  determination  in  his  voice 
and  allowed  him  to  pass  out  into  the  night  with 
her.  Swiftly  she  led  him  along  a  path  that  ran 
into  the  deep  gloom  of  the  balsam  and  spruce. 
He  could  hear  the  throbbing  of  her  heart  and 
her  quick,  excited  breathing  as  she  stopped,  one 
of  her  hands  clasping  him  nervously  by  the 
arm. 

"It  is  not  very  far — from  here,"  she  whis 
pered.  **You  must  not  go  with  me.  If  they 
94 


THE   LOVE   OF   A   MAN 

u,  wiih  you — at  this  hour — "  He  felt  her 
shuddering  against  him. 

"Only  a  little  farther,"  he  begged. 

She  surrendered  again,  hesitatingly,  and  ihej 
rent  on,  more  slowly  than  before,  until  they 
tame  to  where  a  few  faint  lights  in  the  camp 
*ere  visible  ahead  of  them. 

"Now — now  you  must  go !" 

Rowland  turned  as  if  to  obey.  In  an  instant 
fcKe  girl  was  at  his  eide. 

"You  have  not  promised,*  sh*  entreated. 
"Will  you  go — to-morrow  ?" 

In  the  luster  of  the  eyes  that  were  turned  up 
to  him  in  the  gloom  Rowland  saw  again  the 
strange*  sweet  power  that  had  taken  possession 
of  his  f.mil.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  in  these 
moments  that  he  had  known  this  girl  for  only  a 
few  hows,  that  until  to-night  he  had  heard  no 
word  pass  from  her  lips.  He  was  conscious 
only  that  in  the  space  of  those  few  hours  some- 
thing  had  come  into  his  life  which  he  had  never 
known  before;  and  a  deep  longing  to  tell  her 
95 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

this,  to  take  her  sweet  face  between  his  hands, 
as  they  stood  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  and  to 
confess  to  her  that  she  had  become  more  to  him 
than  a  passing  vision  in  a  strange  wilderness  filled 
him.  That  night  he  had  forgotten  half  of  the 
strenuous  lesson  he  had  striven  years  to  master ; 
success,  ambition,  the  mere  joy  of  achievement, 
were  for  the  first  time  sunk  under  a  greater 
thing  for  him — the  pulsating,  human  presence 
of  this  girl ;  and  as  he  looked  down  into  her  face, 
pleading  with  him  still  in  its  white,  silent  terror, 
he  forgot,  too,  what  this  woman  was  or  might 
have  been,  knowing  only  that  to  him  she  had 
opened  a  new  and  glorious  world  filled  with  a 
promise  that  stirred  his  blood  like  sharp  wine. 
He  crushed  her  hands  once  more  to  his  breast 
as  he  had  done  on  the  Great  North  Trail,  hold 
ing  her  so  close  that  he  could  feel  the  throbbing 
of  her  bosom  against  him.  He  spoke  no  word — 
and  still  her  eyes  pleaded  with  him  to  go.  Sud 
denly  he  freed  one  of  his  hands  and  brushed 
back  the  thick  hair  from  her  brow  and  turned 
96 


THE    LOVE    OF   A   MAN 

her  face  gently,  until  what  dim  light  came  down 
from  the  stars  \bove  glowed  in  the  beauty  of 
her  eyes.  In  his  3wn  face  she  saw  that  which  he 
had  not  dared  to  speak,  and  from  her  lips  there 
came  a  soft  little  sobbing  cry. 

"No,  I  have  not  promised — and  I  will  not 
promise,"  he  said,  holding  her  face  so  that  she 
could  not  look  away  from  him.  "Forgive  me 
for — for — doing  this — "  And  before  she  could 
move  he  caught  her  for  a  moment  close  in  his 
arms,  holding  her  so  that  he  felt  the  quick  beat 
ing  of  her  heart  against  his  own,  the  sweep  of 
her  hair  and  breath  in  his  face.  "This  is  why  I 
will  not  go  back,"  he  cmd  softly.  "It  is  be 
cause  I  love  you — love  you — " 

He  caught  himself,  choking  back  the  words, 
and  as  she  drew  away  from  him  her  eyes  shone 
vith  a  glory  that  made  him  half  reach  out  his 
arms  to  her. 

"You  will  forgive  me !"  he  begged.    "I  do  not 
mean  to  do  wrong.     Only,  you  must  know  why 
S  shall  not  go  back  into  the  South." 
97 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

From  her  distance  she  saw  his  arms  stretched 
tike  shadows  toward  her.  Her  voice  was  low,  so 
low  that  he  could  hardly  hear  the  words  she 
spoke,  but  its  sweetness  thrilled  him. 

"If  you  love  me  you  will  do  this  thingr  for  me, 
You  will  go  to-morrow." 

"And  you?" 

"I?"  He  heard  the  tremulous  quiver  in  her 
voice.  "Very  soon  you  will  forget  that  you  have 
— ever — seen — me." 

From  down  the  path  there  came  the  sound  of 
low  voices.  Excitedly  the  girl  ran  to  Howland, 
thrusting  him  back  with  her  hands. 

"Go!  Go!"  she  cried  tensely.  "Hurry  back 
to  the  cabin !  Lock  your  door — and  don't  come 
out  again  to-night !  Oh,  please,  if  you  love  me, 
please,  go — " 

The  voices  were  approaching.  Howland  fan 
cied  that  he  could  distinguish  dark  shadows  be 
tween  the  thinned  walls  of  the  forest.  He 
laughed  softly. 

"I  am  not  going  to  run,  little  girl,"  he  whis- 
98 


THE    LOVE    OF    A    MAN 

pered.    "See?"    He  drew  his  revolver  so  that  it 
gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  stars. 

With  a  frightened  gasp  the  girl  pulled  him 
into  the  thick  bushes  beside  the  path  until  they 
stood  a  dozen  paces  from  where  those  who  were 
coming  down  the  trail  would  pass.  There  was  a 
silence  as  Rowland  slipped  his  weapon  back 
into  its  holster.  Then  the  voices  came  again, 
very  near,  and  at  the  sound  of  chem  his  com 
panion  shrank  close  to  him,  her  hands  clutching 
his  arms,  her  white,  frightened  face  raised  to 
him  in  piteous  appeal.  His  blood  leaped 
through  him  like  fire.  He  knew  that  the  girl 
had  recognized  the  voices — that  they  who  were 
about  to  pass  him  were  the  mysterious  enemies 
against  whom  she  had  warned  him.  Perhaps 
they  were  the  two  who  had  attacked  him  on  the 
Great  North  Trail.  His  muscles  grew  tense. 
The  girl  could  feel  them  straining  under  her 
hands,  could  feel  his  body  grow  rigid  and  alert. 
His  hand  fell  again  on  his  revolver;  he  made  a 
step  past  her,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  face  as  set 
99 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

as  iron.  Almost  sobbing,  she  pressed  herself 
ag-ainst  his  breast,  holding  him  back. 

"Don't— don't — don't — "  she  whispered. 

They  could  hear  the  cracking  of  brush  under 
the  feet  of  those  who  were  approaching.  Sud 
denly  the  sounds  ceased  not  twenty  paces  away. 

From  his  arms  the  girl's  hands  rose  slowly  to 
his  shoulders,  to  his  face,  caressingly,  pleading 
ly;  her  beautiful  eyes  glowed,  half  with  terror, 
half  with  a  prayer  to  him. 

"Don't !"  she  breathed  again,  so  close  that  her 
sweet  breath  fell  warm  on  his  face.  "Don't — if 
you — if  you  care  for  me !" 

Gently  he  drew  her  close  in  his  arms,  crushing 
her  face  to  his  breast,  kissing  her  hair,  her  eyes- 
her  mouth. 

"I  love  you,"  he  whispered  again  and  again 

The  steps  were  resumed,  the  voices  died  away. 
Then  there  came  a  pressure  against  his  breast, 
a  gentle  resistance,  and  he  opened  his  arms  so 
that  the  girl  drew  back  from  him.  Her  lips 
smiling  at  him,  and  in  that  smile  there  was 
100 


THE    LOVE    OF   A   MAN 

gentle  accusation,  the  sweetness  of  forgiveness$ 
and  h**  could  see  that  with  these  there  had  come 
also  a  flush  into  her  cheeks  and  a  dazzling  glow 
into  her  eyes. 

"They  are  gone,"  she  said  tremblingly. 
"Yes ;  they  are  gone." 

He  stood  looking  down  into  her  glowing  face 
in  silence.  Then,  "They  are  gone,"  he  repeated. 
"They  were  the  men  who  tried  to  kill  me  at 
Prince  Albert.  I  have  let  them  go — for  you. 
Will  you  tell  me  your  name?" 

"Yes — that  much — now.     It  is  Meleese." 
"Meleese!" 

The  name  fell  from  him  sharply.  In  an  instant 
there  recurred  to  him  all  that  Croisset  had  said, 
and  there  almost  came  from  his  lips  the  half- 
breed's  words,  which  had  burned  themselves  in 
his  memory,  "Perhaps  you  will  understand 
when  I  tell  you  this  warning  is  sent  to  you  by 
the  little  Meleese."  What  had  Croisset  meant? 
"Meleese,"  he  repeated,  looking  strangely 
into  the  girl's  face. 

101 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

"Yes — Meleese — " 

She  drew  back  '  from  him  slowly,  the  color 
fading  from  her  cheeks ;  and  as  she  saw  the  light 
in  his  eyes,  there  burst  from  her  a  short,  stifled 
cry. 

"Now— «you  understand — you  understand 
why  you  must  go  back  into  the  South,"  she 
almost  sobbed.  "Oh,  I  have  sinned  to  tell  you 
my  name!  But  you  will  go,  won't  you?  You 
will  go — for  me — " 

"For  you  I  would  go  to  the  end  of  the  earth !" 
interrupted  Rowland,  his  pale  face  near  to  her. 
"But  you  must  tell  me  why.  I  don't  understand 
you.  I  don't  know  why  those  men  tried  to  kill 
me  in  Prince  Albert.  I  don't  know  why  my  life 
is  in  danger  here.  Croisset  told  me  that  my 
warning  back  there  came  from  a  girl  named 
Meleese.  I  didn't  understand  him.  I  don't  un 
derstand  you.  It  is  all  a  mystery  to  me.  SQ 
far  as  I  know  I  have  never  had  enemies.  I  neve* 
heard  your  name  until  Croisset  spoke  it.  What 
did  he  mean?  What  do  you  mean?  Why  do 
102 


THE    LOVE    OF   A   MAN 

you  Want  to  drive  me  from  the  Wekusko? 
is  my  life  in  danger?  It  is  for  you  to  tell  me 
these  things.  I  have  been  honest  with  you.  I 
love  you.  I  will  fight  for  you  if  it  is  necessary 
— but  you  must  tell  me — tell  me — " 

His  breath  was  hot  in  her  face,  and  she  staged 
at  him  as  if  what  she  heard  robbed  her  of  the 
power  of  speech. 

"Won't  you  tell  me?"  he  whispered,  more 
softly.  "Meleese — "  She  made  no  effort  to  re 
sist  him  as  he  drew  her  once  more  in  his  arms, 
crushing  her  sweet  lips  to  his  own.  "Meleese, 
won't  you  tell  me?" 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  hands  to  his  face  and 
pushed  back  his  head,  looking  squarely  into  his 
eyes. 

"If  I  tell  you,"  she  said  softly,  "and  in  tell 
ing  you  I  betray  those  whom  I  love,  will  you 
promise  to  bring  harm  to  none  of  them,  but 
go  back  into  the  South?" 

"And  leave  you  ?" 

"Yes — and  leave  me." 
103 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

There  was  the  faintest  tremor  of  a  sob  in  the 
voice  which  she  was  trying  so  hard  to  control. 
His  arms  tightened  about  her. 

"I  will  swear  to  do  what  is  best  for  you — and 
for  me,"  he  replied.  "I  will  swear  to  b/ing 
harm  to  none  whom  you  care  to  shield.  But  T 
will  not  promise  to  leave  you !" 

A  soft  glow  came  into  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
enclasped  his  arms  and  stood  back  from  him. 

"I  will  think — think — "  she  whispered  quick 
ly.  "Perhaps  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow  night — 
here — if  you  will  keep  your  oath  and  do  what  is 
best  for  you — and  for  me." 

"I  swear  it!" 

"Then  I  will  meet  you  here — at  this  time — 
when  the  others  are  asleep.  But — to-morrow — 
you  will  be  careful — careful — "  Unconsciously 
she  half  reached  her  arms  out  to  him  as  she 
turned  toward  the  path.  "You  will  be  careful—* 
to-morrow — promise  me  that." 

"I  promise." 

Like  a  shadow  she  was  gone.     He  heard  her 
104 


THE   LOVE   OF   A   MAN 

quick  steps  running  up  the  path,  saw  her  form 
as  it  disappeared  in  the  forest  gloom.  For  a 
few  moments  longer  he  stood,  hardly  breathing, 
until  he  knew  that  she  had  gone  beyond  his  hear 
ing.  Then  he  walked  swiftly  along  the  foot 
path  that  led  to  the  cabin. 


105 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    BLOWING    OF    THE    COYOTE 

IN  the  new  excitement  that  pulsated  witK  every 
fiber  of  his  being,  Rowland  forgot  his  own 
danger,  forgot  his  old  caution  and  the  fears  that 
gave  birth  to  it,  forgot  everything  in  these  mo 
ments  but  Meleese  and  his  own  great  happiness. 
For  he  was  happy,  happier  than  he  had  ever  been 
in  his  life,  happier  than  he  had  ever  expected  to 
be.  He  was  conscious  of  no  madness  in  thif 
strange,  new  joy  that  swept  through  his  bein^ 
like  a  fire ;  he  did  not  stop  to  weigh  with  himself 
the  unreasoning  impulses  that  filled  him.  He  had 
held  Meleese  in  his  arms,  he  had  told  her  of  his 
love,  and  though  she  had  accepted  it  with  gentle 
unresponsiveness  he  was  thrilled  by  the  memory 
of  that  last  look  in  her  eyes,  which  had  spoken 
faith,  confidence,  and  perhaps  even  more.  And 
hi*  faith  in  her  had  become  as  limitless  as  the  blu<> 
106 


THE    BLOWING   OF    THE    COYOTE 

space  above  him.  He  had  known  her  for  but  a  few 
hours  and  yet  in  that  time  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  lived  longer  than  in  all  of  the  years  that 
had  gone  before.  She  had  lied  to  him,  had  di 
vulged  only  a  part  of  her  identity — and  yet  he 
knew  that  there  were  reasons  for  these  things. 

To-morrow  night  he  would  see  her  again,  and 
then — 

What  would  she  tell  him?  Whatever  it  was,  it 
was  to  be  a  reward  for  his  own  love.  He  knew 
that,  by  the  half-fearing  tremble  of  her  voice, 
the  sobbing  catch  of  her  breath,  the  soft  glow  in 
her  eyes.  Impelled  by  that  love,  would  she  con 
fide  in  him?  And  then — would  he  go  back  into 
the  South? 

He  laughed,  softly,  joyfully. 

Yes,  he  would  go  back  into  the  South — he 
would  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  earth,  if  she 
Jrould  go  with  him.  What  was  the  building  of 
this  railroad  now  to  that  other  great  thing  that 
had  come  into  his  life?  For  the  first  time  he  saw 
duty  in  another  light.  There  were  others  who 
107 


•     THfc   DANGER   TRAIL 

could  build  the  road;  success,  fortune,  ambition 
— in  the  old  way  he  had  seen  them — -were  over 
shadowed  now  by  this  love  of  a  girl. 

He  stopped  and  lighted  his  pipe.  The  fra 
grant  odor  of  the  tobacco,  the  flavor  of  the  warm 
smoke  in  his  mouth,  helped  to  readjust  him,  to 
cool  his  heated  brain.  The  old  fighting  instincts 
leaped  into  life  again.  Go  into  the  South?  He 
asked  himself  the  question  once  more,  and  in  the 
gloomy  silence  of  the  forest  his  low  laugh  fell 
again  as  he  clenched  his  hands  in  anticipation  of 
what  was  ahead  of  him.  No — he  would  build  the 
road !  And  in  building  it  he  would  win  this  girl, 
if  it  was  given  for  him  to  possess  her. 

His  saner  thoughts  brought  back  hJs  caution. 
He  went  more  slowly  toward  the  cabin,  keeping 
in  the  deep  shadows  and  stopping  now  and  then 
to  listen.  At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  he  paused 
for  a  long  time.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  about 
the  cabin  abandoned  by  Gregson  and  Thome.  It 
was  probable  that  the  two  men  who  had  passed 
along  the  path  had  returned  to  the  camp  by  «D* 
108 


THE    BLOWING   OF   THE    COYOTE 

other  trail,  and  still  keeping  as  much  within  the 
shadows  as  possible  he  went  to  the  door  and  en 
tered. 

With  his  feet  propped  in  front  of  the  big  box 
stove  sat  Jackpine.  The  Indian  rose  as  Howland 
entered,  and  something  in  the  sullen  gloom  of  his 
face  caused  the  young  engineer  to  eye  him  ques- 
tioningly. 

"Any  one  been  here,  Jackpine  ?" 

The  old  sledge-driver  gave  his  head  a  negative 
shake  and  hunched  his  shoulders,  pointing  at  the 
same  time  to  the  table,  on  which  lay  a  carefully 
folded  piece  of  paper. 

"Thome,"  he  grunted. 

Howland  spread  out  the  paper  in  the  light  of 
the  lamp,  and  read  : 


DEAII  HOWLANI*  ; 
"I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  our  mail  sledge 
starts  for  Le  Pas  to-morrow  at  noon,  and  as  I'm 
planning  on  going  down  with  it  I  want  you  to 
get  over  as  early  as  you  can  in  the  morning.  Can 
put  you  on  to  everything  in  the  camp  between 
eight  «ind  twelve.  THORNE." 

109 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

A  whistle  of  astonishment  escaped  HowlantV*f 
lips. 

"Where  do  you  sleep,  Jackpine?"  he  asked 
guddenly. 

"Cabin  in  edge  of  woods,"  replied  the  Indian. 

"How  about  breakfast?  Thome  hasn't  put  me 
on  to  the  grub  line  yet." 

"Thorne  say  you  eat  with  heem  in  mornin*. 
I  come  early — wake  you.  After  heem  go — to 
morrow — eat  here." 

"You  needn't  wake  me,"  said  Howland,  throw 
ing  off  his  coat.  "I'll  find  Thorne — probably  be 
fore  he's  up.  Good  night." 

Jackpine  had  half  opened  the  door,  and  for 
a  moment  the  engineer  caught  a  glimpse  of  his 
dark,  grinning  face  looking  back  over  his  shoul 
der.  He  hesitated,  as  if  about  to  speak,  and  then 
Urith  a  mouthful  of  his  inimitable  chuckles,  he 
vent  out. 

After  bolting  the  door  Howland  lighted  a 
.»ma]l  table  lamp,  entered  the  sleeping  room  and 
prepared  for  bed. 

110 


THE    BLOWING   OF   THE    COYOTE 

"Got  to  have  a  little  sleep  no  matter  if  things 
are  gokig  off  like  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration," 
he  grumbled,  and  rolled  between  the  sheets. 

In  spite  of  his  old  habit  of  rising  with  the. 
breaking  of  dawn  it  was  Jackpine  who  awakened 
him  a  few  hours  later.  The  camp  was  hardly 
astir  when  he  followed  the  Indian  down  among 
the  log  cabins  to  Thome's  quarters.  The  senioi 
engineer  was  already  dressed. 

*'  -i  vy  to  hustle  you  so,  Howland,"  he  greeted, 
"but  I've  got  to  go  down  with  the  mail.  Just  be 
tween  you  and  me  I  don't  believe  the  camp  doctor 
\s  much  on  his  job.  I've  got  a  deuced  bad  shoul 
der  and  a  worse  arm,  and  I'm  going  down  to  a 
good  surgeon  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"Didn't  they  send  Weston  up  with  you?'* 
asked  Howland.  He  knew  that  Weston  was  the 
best  "accident  man"  in  the  company's  employ. 

"Yes — Weston,"  replied  the  senior,  eying  hint 

sharply.    "I  don't  mean  to  say  he's  not  a  good 

man,  Howland,"  he  amended  quickly.    "But  he 

doesn't  quite  seem  to  take  hold  of  this  hurt  of 

111 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

mine.  By  the  way,  I  looked  over  our  pay-roll  and 
there  is  no  Croisset  on  it." 

For  an  hour  after  breakfast  the  two  men  were 
busy  with  papers,  maps  and  drawings  relative  to 
the  camp  work.  Rowland  had  kept  in  close  touch 
with  operations  from  Chicago  and  by  the  time 
they  were  ready  to  leave  for  outside  inspection 
he  was  confident  that  he  could  take  hold  without 
the  personal  assistance  of  either  Gregson  or 
Thome.  Before  that  hour  had  passed  he  was 
certain  of  at  least  one  other  thing — that  it  was 
not  incompetency  that  was  taking  the  two  senior 
engineers  back  to  the  home  office.  He  had  half 
expected  to  find  the  working-end  in  the  same  dis 
organized  condition  as  its  chiefs.  But  if  Greg- 
son  and  Thorne  had  been  laboring  under  a  tre 
mendous  strain  of  some  kind  it  was  not  reflected 
in  the  company's  work,  as  shown  in  the  office 
records  which  the  latter  had  spread  out  before 
him. 

"That'j  a  big  six  months'  work,"  said  Thorne 
when  they  had  finished.  "Good  Lord,  man,  whe» 
112 


THE    BLOWING   OF   THE    COYOTE 

we  first  came  up  here  a  jack-rabbit  couldn'* 
hop  through  this  place  where  you're  sitting,  anc 
now  see  what  we've  got!  Fifty  cabins,  foui 
mess-halls,  two  of  the  biggest  warehouses  north 
of  Winnipeg,  a  post-office,  a  hospital,  three 
blacksmith  shops  and — a  ship-yard !" 

"A  ship-yard!"  exclaimed  Howland  in  gen 
uine  surprise. 

"Sure,  with  a  fifty-ton  ship  half  built  and 
frozen  stiff  in  the  ice.  You  can  finish  her  in  the 
spring  and  you'll  find  her  mighty  useful  for 
bringing  supplies  from  the  head  of  the  Wekusko. 
We're  using  horses  on  the  ice  now.  Had  a 
deuced  hard  time  in  getting  fifty  of  'em  up  from 
Le  Pas.  And  besides  all  this,  we've  got  six 
miles  of  road-bed  built  to  the  south  and  three  tc 
the  north.  We've  got  a  sub-camp  at  each  work 
ing-end,  but  most  of  the  men  still  prefer  to  come 
in  at  night."  He  dragged  himself  slowly  and 
painfully  to  his  feet  as  a  knock  sounded  at  the 
door.  "That's  MacDonald,  our  camp  superin 
tendent,"  he  explained.  "Told  him  to  be  her* 
113 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

at  eight.  He's  a  corker  for  taking  hold  of 
things." 

A  little,  wiry,  red-headed  man  hopped  in  ai 
Thome  threw  open  the  door.  The  moment  his 
eyes  fell  on  Rowland  he  sprang  forward  with 
outstretched  hand,  smiling  and  bobbing  his  head. 

"Howland,  of  course!"  he  cried.  "Glad  to 
see  you!  Five  minutes  late — awful  sorry — but 
they're  having  the  devil's  own  time  over  at  a 
coyote  we're  going  to  blow  this  morning,  and 
that's  what  kept  me." 

From  Howland  he  whirled  on  the  senior  with 
the  sudden  movement  of  a  cricket. 

"How's  the  arm,  Thorne?  And  if  there's  any 
mercy  in  your  corpus  tell  me  if  Jackpine  brought 
me  the  cigarettes  from  Le  Pas.  If  he  forgot 
them,  as  the  mail  did,  I'll  have  his  life  as  sure — " 

"He  brought  them,"  said  Thorne.  "But  how 
about  this  coyote,  Mac?  I  thought  it  was  ready 
to  fire." 

"So  it  is — now.  The  south  ridge  is  scheduled 
to  go  up  at  ten  o'clock.  We'll  blow  up  the  big 
114 


THE    BLOWING   OF   THE    COYOTE 

north  mountains  sometime  to-night.  It'll  mala» 
a  glorious  fireworks — one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  barrels  of  powder  and  four  fifty-pound  cases 
of  dynamite — and  if  you  can't  walk  that  far, 
Thome,  we'll  take  you  up  on  a  sledge.  Mustn't 
allow  you  to  miss  it !" 

"Sorry,  but  I'll  have  to,  Mac.  I'm  going 
south  with  the  mail.  That's  why  I  want  you 
with  Howland  and  me  this  morning.  It  will  be 
up  to  you  to  get  him  acquainted  with  every  de 
tail  in  camp." 

"Bully!"  exclaimed  the  little  superintendent, 
rubbing  his  hands  with  brisk  enthusiasm. 
"Greggy  and  Thorne  have  done  some  remark 
able  things,  Mr.  Howland.  You'll  open  your 
eyes  when  you  see  'em!  Talk  about  building 
railroads!  We've  got  'em  all  beat  a  thousand 
ways — tearing  through  forests,  swamps  and 
those  blooming  ridge-mountains — and  here  we 
are  pretty  near  up  at  the  end  of  the  earth.  The 
new  Trans-continental  isn't  in  it  with  us  I 
The—" 

115 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

"Tling  off,  Mac!"  exclaimed  Thome;  and 
t'fcwiand  found  himself  laughing  down  into  the 
red,  fyeckled  face  of  the  superintendent.  He 
liked  tl/is  man  immensely  from  the  first. 

"He's  a  bunch  of  live  wires,  double-charged 
all  the  tims."  said  Thorne  in  a  low  voice  as  Mae- 
Donald  went  out  ahead  of  them.  "Always  like 
that — happy  jts  a  boy  most  of  the  time,  loved 
by  the  men,  but  the  very  devil  himself  when  he's 
riled.  Don't  kEOve  what  this  camp  would  do 
without  him." 

This  same  thought  occurred  to  Howland  a 
dozen  times  during  the  next  two  hours.  Mac- 
Donald  seemed  to  be  the  life  and  law  of  the  camp, 
and  he  wondered  more  and  more  at  ThorneV  de 
meanor.  The  camp  chiefs  and  gang  foremen 
whom  they  met  seemed  to  stand  in  a  certain  awe 
of  the  senior  engineer,  but  it  was  at  the  litue 
red-headed  Scotchman's  cheery  words  that  thafc 
eyes  lighted  with  enthusiasm.  This  was  not  liku 
the  old  Thorne,  who  had  been  the  eye,  the  ea/ 
and  the  tongue  of  the  company's  greatest  ec 
116 


THE    BLOWING   OF    THE    COYOTE 

gineering  works  for  a  decade  past,  and  whose 
boundless  enthusiasm  and  love  of  work  had  been 
the  largest  factors  in  the  winning  of  fame  that 
was  more  than  national.  He  began  to  note  that, 
there  was  a  strange  nervousness  about  Thorne 
when  they  were  among  the  men,  an  uneasy  alert 
ness  in  his  eyes,  as  though  he  were  looking  for 
some  particular  face  among  those  they  encoun 
tered.  MacDonald's  shrewd  eyes  observed  hia 
perplexity,  and  once  he  took  an  opportunity  to 
whisper : 

"I  guess  it's  about  time  for  Thorne  to  get 
back  into  civilization.  There's  something  bad  in 
his  system.  Weston  told  me  yesterday  that  his 
injuries  are  coming  along  finely.  I  don't  under 
stand  it." 

A  little  later  they  returned  with  Thorne  to  hi* 
room. 

"I  want  Howland  to  see  this  south  coyote  gc 
up,"  said  MacDonald.  "Can  you  spare  him? 
We'll  be  back  before  noon." 

"Certainly.  Come  and  take  dinner  witb  me  at 
117 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

twelve.  That  will  give  me  time  to  make  memo* 
randa  of  things  I  may  have  forgotten." 

Howland  fancied  that  there  was  a  certain  tone 
of  relief  in  the  senior's  voice,  but  he  made  no 
mention  of  it  to  the  superintendent  as  they 
walked  swiftly  to  the  scene  of  the  "blow-out." 
The  coyote  was  ready  for  firing  when  they  ar 
rived.  The  coyote  itself — a  tunnel  of  fifty  feet 
dug  into  the  solid  rock  of  the  mountain  and  ter 
minating  in  a  chamber  packed  with  explosives— 
was  closed  by  masses  of  broken  rock,  rammed 
tight,  and  MacDonald  showed  his  companion 
where  the  electric  wire  passed  to  the  fuse  within. 

"It's  a  confounded  mystery  to  me  why  Thorne 
doesn't  care  to  see  this  ridge  blown  up !"  he  ex 
claimed  after  they  had  finished  the  inspection. 
"We've  been  at  work  for  three  months  drilling 
this  coyote,  and  the  bigger  one  to  the  north. 
There  are  four  thousand  square  yards  of  rock 
to  come  out  of  there,  and  six  thousand  out  of 
the  other.  You  don't  see  shots  like  those  three 
times  in  a  lifetime,  and  there'll  not  be  another 
118 


THE    BLOWING   OF    THE    COYOTE 

for  us  between  here  and  the  bay.  What's  the 
matter  with  Thorne?" 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  MacDonald 
Hvalked  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  a  ridge  to  the 
right.  Already  guards  had  been  thrown  out  on 
all  sides  of  the  mountain  and  their  thrilling 
warnings  of  "Fire — Fire — Fire,"  shouted 
through  megaphones  of  birch-bark,  echoed  with 
ominous  meaning  through  the  still  wilderness, 
where  for  the  time  all  work  had  ceased.  On  the 
top  of  the  ridge  half  a  hundred  of  the  workmen 
had  already  assembled,  and  as  Howland  and  thv, 
superintendent  came  among  them  they  fell  bacl? 
from  around  a  big,  flat  boulder  on  which  was 
stationed  the  electric  battery.  MacDonald's  face 
was  flushed  and  his  eyes  snapped  like  dragon- 
flies  as  he  pointed  to  a  tiny  button. 

"God,  but  I  can't  understand  why  Thorne 
doesn't  care  to  see  this,"  he  said  again.  "Think 
of  it,  man — seven  thousand  five  hundred  pounds 
of  powder  and  two  hundred  of  dynamite!  A 
touch  of  this  button,  a  flash  along  the  wire,  and 
119 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

*Jie  'fuse  is  struck.  Then,  four  or  five  minutes^, 
and  up  goes  a  mountain  that  has  stood  here  since 
the  world  began.  Isn't  it  glorious?"  He 
ftraightened  himself  and  took  off  his  hat.  "Mr. 
Rowland,  will  you  press  the  button?" 

With  a  strange  thrill  Rowland  bent  over  the 
battery,  his  eyes  turned  to  the  mass  of  rock  loom 
ing  sullen  and  black  half  a  mile  away,  as  if  bid 
ding  defiance  in  the  face  of  impending  fate. 
Tremblingly  his  finger  pressed  on  the  little  white 
knob,  and  a  silence  like  that  of  death  fell  on  those 
who  watched.  One  minute — two — three — five 
passed,  while  in  the  bowels  of  the  mountain  the 
fuse  was  sizzling  to  its  end.  Then  there  came  a 
puff,  something  like  a  cloud  of  dust  rising  sky 
ward,  but  without  sound ;  and  before  its  upward 
belching  had  ceased  a  tongue  of  flame  spurted 
out  of  its  crest — and  after  that,  perhaps  two  sec 
onds  later,  came  the  explosion.  There  was  a 
rumbling  and  a  jarring,  as  if  the  earth  were 
convulsed  under  foot;  volumes  of  dense  black 
smoke  shot  upward,  shutting  the  mountain  in 
120 


an  impenetrable  pall  of  gloom ;  and  in  an  instant 
these  rolling,  twisting  volumes  of  black  became 
lurid,  and  an  explosion  like  that  of  a  thousand 
great  guns  rent  the  air.  As  fast  as  the  eye 
could  follow,  sheets  of  flame  shot  out  of  the 
sea  of  smoke,  climbing  higher  and  higher,  in 
lightning  flashes,  until  the  lurid  tongues  licked 
the  air  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  the  startled 
wilderness.  Explosion  followed  explosion,  some 
of  them  coming  in  hollow,  reverberating  booms, 
others  sounding  as  if  in  mid-air.  The  heavens 
were  filled  with  hurtling  rocks;  solid  masses  of 
granite  ten  feet  square  were  thrown  a  hundred 
feet  away;  rocks  weighing  a  ton  were  hurled 
still  farther,  as  if  they  were  no  more  than  stones 
flung  by  the  hand  of  a  giant ;  chunks  that  would 
have  crashed  from  the  roof  to  the  basement  of 
a  sky-scraper  dropped  a  third  and  nearly  a  half 
a  mile  away.  For  three  minutes  the  frightful 
convulsions  continued.  Then  the  lurid  lights 
died  out  of  the  pall  of  smoke,  and  the  pall  itself 
began  to  settle.  Rowland  felt  a  grip  on  his 
121 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

ftrm.  Dumbly  he  turned  and  looked  into  the 
white,  staring  face  of  the  superintendent.  His 
ears  tingled,  every  fiber  in  him  seemed  unstrung. 
ftiacDonald's  voice  came  to  him  strange  and 
"veird. 

**What  do  you  think  of  that,  Rowland  ?" 
The  two  men  gripped  hands,  and  when  they 
looked  again  they  saw  dimly  through  dust  and 
smoke  only  torn  and  shattered  masses  of  rock 
where  had  been  the  giant  ridge  that  barred  the 
path  of  the  new  road  to  the  bay. 

Howland  talked  but  little  on  their  way  back 
to  camp.  The  scene  that  he  had  just  witnessed 
affected  him  strangely;  it  stirred  once  more 
within  him  all  of  his  old  ambition,  all  of  his  old 
enthusiasm,  and  yet  neither  found  voice  in  words. 
He  was  glad  when  the  dinner  was  over  at 
Thome's,  and  with  the  going  of  the  mail  sledge 
Uid  the  senior  engineer  there  came  over  him  a 
still  deeper  sense  of  joy.  Now  he  was  in  charge; 
it  was  his  road  from  that  hour  on.  He  crushed 
MacDonald's  hand  in  a  grip  that  meant  more 
122 


THE    BLOWING   OF   THE    COYOTE 

than  words  when  they  parted.  In  his  own  cabin 
he  threw  off  his  coat  and  hat,  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  tried  to  realize  just  what  this  all  meant  fof 
him.  He  was  in  charge — in  charge  of  the  great* 
est  railroad  building  job  on  earth — he,  Jack 
Howland,  who  less  than  twenty  years  ago  was  a 
barefooted,  half -starved  urchin  peddling  papers 
in  the  streets  where  he  was  now  famous!  And 
now  what  was  this  black  thing  that  had  come  up 
to  threaten  his  chances  just  as  he  had  about  won 
his  great  fight?  He  clenched  his  hands  as  he 
thought  again  of  what  had  already  happened — 
the  cowardly  attempt  on  his  life,  the  warnings, 
and  his  blood  boiled  to  fever  heat.  That  night 
— after  he  had  seen  Meleese — he  would  know 
what  to  do.  But  he  would  not  be  driven  away, 
as  Gregson  and  Thorne  had  been  driven.  He 
was  determined  on  that.  I 

The  gloom  of  night  falls  early  in  the  great 
northern  mid-winter,  and  it  was  already  grow 
ing  dusk  when  there  came  the  sound  of  a  voice 
outside,  followed  a  moment  later  by  a  loud  knock 
123 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

at  the  door.  At  Rowland's  invitation  the  doof 
opened  and  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  mar  ap 
peared. 

"Something  has  gone  wrong  out  at  the  north 
coyote,  sir,  and  Mr.  MacDonald  wants  you  just 
as  fast  as  you  can  get  out  there,"  he  said.  "He 
sent  me  down  for  you  with  a  sledge." 

"MacDonald  told  me  the  thing  was  ready  for 
firing,"  said  Howland,  putting  on  his  hat  and 
coat.  "What's  the  matter?" 

"Bad  packing,  I  guess.  Heard  him  swearing 
about  it.  He's  in  a  terrible  sweat  to  see  you." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  sledge  drew  up  close 
to  the  place  where  Howland  had  seen  a  score  of 
men  packing  bags  of  powder  and  dynamite 
earlier  in  the  day.  Half  a  dozen  lanterns  were 
burning  among  the  rocks,  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  movement  or  life.  The  engineer's  companion 
gave  a  sudden  sharp  crack  of  his  long  whip  and 
in  response  to  it  there  came  a  muffled  halloo  from 
out  of  the  gloom. 

"That's   MacDonald,   sir.      You'll   find   him 
144 


THE   BLOWING   OF   THE    COYOTE 

right  up  there  near  that  second  light,  where  the 
coyote  opens  up.  He's  grilling  the  life  out  of 
half  a  dozen  men  in  the  chamber,  where  he  found 
the  dynamite  on  top  of  the  powder  instead  of 
under  it." 

"All  right !"  called  back  Rowland,  starting  uj 
among  the  rocks.  Hardly  had  he  taken  a  dozen 
steps  when  a  dark  object  shot  out  behind  him 
and,  fell  with  crushing  force  on  his  head.  With 
a  groaning  cry  he  fell  forward  on  his  face.  For 
a  few  moments  he  was  conscious  of  voices  about 
him;  he  knew  that  he  was  being  lifted  in  the 
arms  of  men,  and  that  after  a  time  they  were 
carrying  him  so  that  his  feet  dragged  on  the 
ground.  After  that  he  seemed  to  be  sinking 
down — down — down — until  he  lost  all  sense  o* 
existence  in  a  chaos  of  inky  blackness. 


125 


CHAPTER 

THE  HOTTB  OP  DEATH 

A  RED,  unwinking  eye  staring  at  him  fixedly 
from  out  of  impenetrable  gloom — an  ogre- 
ish,  gleaming  thing  that  brought  life  back  into 
him  with  a  thrill  of  horror — was  Rowland's  first 
vision  of  returning  consciousness.  It  was  dead 
in  front  of  him,  on  a  level  with  his  face — a  ball 
of  yellow  fire  that  seemed  to  burn  into  his  very 
soul.  He  tried  to  cry  out,  but  no  sound  fell 
from  his  lips;  he  strove  to  move,  to  fight  him 
self  away,  but  there  was  no  power  of  movement 
in  his  limbs.  The  eye  grew  larger.  He  saw  that 
It  was  so  bright  it  cast  a  halo,  and  the  halo  wid 
ened  before  his  own  staring  eyes  until  the  dense 
gloom  about  it  seemed  to  be  melting  away.  Then 
£e  knew.  It  was  a  lantern  in  front  of  him,  not 
more  than,  ten  feet  away.  Consciousness  flooded 
him,  and  he  made  another  effort  to  cry  out. 


THE    HOUR   OF   DEATH 

to  free  his  arms  from  an  invisible  clutch  that 
held  him  powerless.  At  first  he  thought  this 
was  the  clutch  of  human  hands;  then,  as  the 
lantern-light  revealed  more  clearly  the  things 
about  him  and  the  outlines  of  his  own  figure,  he 
saw  that  it  was  a  rope,  and  he  knew  that  he  was ' 
unable  to  cry  out  because  of  something  tight  and 
suffocating  about  his  mouth. 

The  truth  came  to  him  swiftly.  He  had  come 
up  to  the  coyote  on  a  sledge.  Some  one  had 
struck  him.  He  remembered  that  men  had  half- 
dragged  him  over  the  rocks,  and  these  men  had 
bound  and  gagged  him,  and  left  him  here,  with 
the  lantern  staring  him  in  the  face.  But  where 
was  he?  He  shifted  his  eyes,  straining  to  pene 
trate  the  gloom.  Ahead  of  him,  just  beyond  the 
light,  there  was  a  black  wall ;  he  could  not  move 
his  head,  but  he  saw  where  that  same  wall  closed 
in  on  the  left.  He  turned  his  gaze  upward, 
£nd  it  ended  with  that  same  imprisoning  barriei 
of  rock.  Then  he  looked  down,  and  the  cry  of 
horror  that  rose  in  his  throat  died  in  a  muffled 
127 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

groan.    The  light  fell  dimly  on  a  sack — two  of 
them — three — a  tightly  packed  wall  of  them. 

He  knew  now  what  had  happened.  He  wab 
imprisoned  in  the  coyote,  and  the  sacks  about  him 
were  filled  with  powder.  He  was  sitting  on 
something  hard — a  box — fifty  pounds  of  dyna 
mite!  The  cold  sweat  stood  out  in  beads  on  his 
face,  glistening  in  the  lantern-glow.  From  be 
tween  his  feet  a  thin,  white,  ghostly  line  ran  out 
until  it  lost  itself  in  the  blackness  under  the  lan 
tern.  It  was  the  fuse,  leading  to  the  box  of 
dynamite  on  which  he  was  sitting ! 

Madly  he  struggled  at  the  thongs  that 
bound  him  until  he  sank  exhausted  against  the 
row  of  powder  sacks  at  his  back.  Like  words  of 
fire  the  last  warning  of  Meleese  burned  in  his 
brain — "You  must  go,  to-morrow — to-morrow— 
or  they  will  kill  you !"  And  this  was  the  way  in 
which  he  was  to  die!  There  flamed  before  his 
2yes  the  terrible  spectacle  which  he  had  witnesses • 
a  few  hours  before — the  holocaust  of  fire  anc 
smoke  and  thunder  that  had  disrupted  a  mouiv 
128 


THE   HOUR   OF   DEATH 

tain,  a  chaos  of  writhing,  twisting  fury,  and  in 
that  moment  his  heart  seemed  to  cease  its  beat- 
mg.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  to  calm  him 
self.  Was  it  possible  that  there  lived  men  so 
fiendish  as  to  condemn  him  to  this  sort  of  death? 
Why  had  not  his  enemies  killed  him  out  among 
the  rocks?  That  would  have  been  easier — 
quicker — less  troublesome.  Why  did  they  wish 
to  torture  him?  What  terrible  thing  had  he 
done?  Was  he  mad — mad — and  this  all  a  ter 
rible  nightmare,  a  raving  ra)d  unreal  contortion 
of  things  in  his  brain?  In  this  hour  of  death 
question  after  question  raced  through  his  head, 
and  he  answered  no  one  of  them.  He  sat  still 
for  a  time,  scarcely  breathing.  There  was  no 
sound,  save  the  beating  of  his  own  heart.  Ther» 
there  came  another,  almost  unheard  at  first,  faint, 
Drilling,  maddening. 

Tick— tick— tick! 

It  was  the  beating  of  his  watch,    A  spasm  c* 
horror  seized  him. 

What  time  was  it? 

129 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

The  coyote  was  to  be  fired  at  nine  o'clock.  It 
was  four  when  he  left  his  cabin.  How  long  had 
he  been  unconscious?  Was  it  time  now — now? 
Was  MacDonald's  finger  already  reaching  out 
to  that  little  white  button  which  would  send  him 
into  eternity  ? 

He  struggled  again,  gnashing  furiously  at 
the  thing  which  covered  his  mouth,  tearing  the 
flesh  of  his  wrists  as  he  twisted  at  the  ropes 
which  bound  him,  choking  himself  with  his  ef 
forts  to  loosen  the  thong  about  his  neck.  Ex 
hausted  again,  he  sank  back,  panting,  half  dead. 
As  he  lay  with  closed  eyes  a  little  of  his  reason 
asserted  itself.  After  all,  was  he  such  a  coward 
as  to  go  mad? 

Tick— tick— tick! 

His  watch  was  beating  at  a  furious  rate.  Was 
something  wrong  with  it?  Was  it  going  too 
fast?  He  tried  to  count  the  seconds,  but  the$ 
raced  away  from  him.  When  he  looked  again 
his  gaze  fell  on  the  little  yellow  tongue  of  flamo 
in  the  lantern  globe.  It  was  not  the  steady,  UD 
130 


THE    HOUR   OF   DEATH 

winking  eye  of  a  few  minutes  before.  There 
was  a  sputtering  weakness  about  it  now,  and  as 
he  watched  the  light  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 
The  flame  was  going  out.  A  few  minutes  more 
and  he  would  be  in  darkness.  At  first  the  sig 
nificance  of  it  did  not  come  to  him;  then  he 
straightened  himself  with  a  jerk  that  tightened 
the  thong  about  his  neck  until  it  choked  him. 
Hours  must  have  passed  since  the  lantern  had 
been  placed  on  that  rock,  else  the  oil  would  not 
be  burned  out  of  it  now ! 

For  the  first  time  Howland  realized  that  it  was 
becoming  more  and  more  difficult  for  him  to  get 
breath.  The  thing  about  his  neck  was  tighten 
ing,  slowly,  inexorably,  like  a  hot  band  of  steel, 
and  suddenly,  because  of  this  tightening,  he 
found  that  he  had  recovered  his  voice. 

"This  damned  rawhide — is  pinching — my 
Adam's  apple — " 

Whatever  had  been  about  his  mouth  had 
slipped  down  and  his  words  sounded  hollow  and 
choking  in  the  rock-bound  chamber.  He  tried 
Wl 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

to  raise  his  voice  in  a  shout,  though  he  knew  how 
futile  his  louoest  shrieks  would  be.  The  effort 
choked  him  more.  His  suffering  was  becoming 
excruciating.  Sharp  pains  darted  like  red-hot 
needles  through  his  limbs,  his  back  tortured  him, 
and  his  head  ached  as  thougn  n.  knife  had  cleft* 
the  base  of  his  skull.  The  strength  of  his  limbs 
was  leaving  him.  He  no  longer  felt  any  sensa 
tion  in  his  cramped  feet.  He  measured  the 
paralysis  creeping  up  his  legs  inch  by  inch, 
driving  the  sharp  pains  before  it — and  then  a 
groan  of  horror  rose  to  his  lips. 

The  light  had  gone  out ! 

As  if  that  dying  of  the  little  yellow  flame  were 
th«  signal  for  his  death,  there  came  to  his  ears 
A  /harp  hissing  sound,,  a  spark  leaped  up  into 
ths  blackness  before  his  eyes,  and  a  slow,  creep 
ing  glow  came  toward  him  over  the  rock  at  hi? 
feet. 

The  hour — the  minute — the  second  had  come, 
and  MacDonald  had  pressed  the  little  white  but 
ton  that  was  to  send  him  into  eternity !  He  did 


THE    HOUR   OF   DEATH 

not  cry  out  now.  He  knew  that  the  end  was  very 
near,  and  in  its  nearness  he  found  new  strength. 
Once  he  had  seen  a  man  walk  to  his  death  on  the 
scaffold,  and  as  the  condemned  had  spoken  hia 
last  farewell,  with  the  noose  about  his  neck,  he 
had  marveled  at  the  clearness  of  his  voice,  at  the 
fearlessness  of  this  creature  in  his  last  moment 
on  earth. 

Now  he  understood.  Inch  by  inch  the  fuse 
burned  toward  him — a  fifth  of  the  distance,  a 
quarter — now  a  third.  At  last  it  reached  a  half 
— was  almost  under  his  feet.  Two  minutes  more 
of  life.  He  put  his  whole  strength  once  again  in 
an  attempt  to  free  his  hands.  This  time  his  at 
tempt  was  cool,  steady,  masterful — with  death 
one  hundred  seconds  away.  His  heart  gave  a 
sudden  bursting  leap  into  his  throat  when  he  felt 
something  give.  Another  effort — and  in  the 
powder-choked  vault  there  rang  out  a  thrilling 
cry  of  triumph.  His  hands  were  free!  He 
reachec  forward  to  the  fuse,  and  this  time  a 
moanin^,  wordless  sob  fell  from  him,  faint,  terri 
133 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

fying,  with  all  the  horror  that  might  fill  a  human 
soul  in  its  inarticulate  note.  He  could  not  reach 
the  fuse  because  of  the  thong  about  his  neck ! 

He  felt  for  his  knife.  He  had  left  it  in  hi* 
room.  Sixty  seconds  more — forty — thirty !  He 
could  see  the  fiery  end  of  the  fuse  almost  at  hi& 
feet.  Suddenly  his  groping  fingers  came  in  con 
tact  with  the  cold  steel  of  his  pocket  revolver 
and  with  a  last  hope  he  snatched  it  forth,  stretch 
ing  down  his  pistol  arm  until  the  muzzle  of  the 
weapon  was  within  a  dozen  inches  of  the  deadly 
spark.  At  his  first  shot  the  spark  leaped,  but 
did  not  go  out.  After  the  second  there  was  no 
longer  the  fiery,  creeping  thing  on  the  floor,  and. 
crushing  his  head  back  against  the  sacks,  How- 
land  sat  for  many  minutes  as  if  death  had  in 
reality  come  to  him  in  the  moment  of  his  deliver* ' 
ance.  After  a  time,  with  tedious  slowness,  hi 
worked  a  hand  into  his  trousers'  pocket,  wheit 
he  carried  a  pen-knife.  It  took  him  a  long  tim* 
to  saw  through  the  rawhide  thong  about  hif 
lift 


THE   HOUR   OF   DEATH 

leek.    After  that  he  cut  the  rope  that  bound  his 
inkles, 

He  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  no  sooner  had 
lie  gained  his  feet  than  his  paralyzed  limbs  gave 
»ray  under  him  and  he  dropped  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor.  Very  slowly  the  blood  began  finding  its 
way  through  his  choked  veins  again,  and  with 
the  change  there  came  over  him  a  feeling  of  in 
finite  restf  ulness.  He  stretched  himself  out,  with 
his  face  turned  to  the  black  wall  above,  realizing 
only  that  he  was  saved,  that  he  had  outwitted  his 
mysterious  enemies  again,  and  that  he  was  com 
fortable.  He  made  no  effort  to  think — to  scheme 
out  his  further  deliverance.  He  was  with  the 
powder  and  the  dynamite,  and  the  powder  and 
the  dynamite  could  not  be  exploded  until  human 
bands  came  to  attach  a  new  fuse.  MacDonald 
would  attend  to  that  very  soon,  so  he  went  off 
Into  a  doze  that  was  almost  sleep.  In  his  half- 
Consciousness  there  came  to  him  but  one  sound— 
dreadful  ticking  of  his  watch.  He  seemed 

135 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

tt  have  listened  to  it  for  hours  when  there  arose 
an  ither  sound — tht-  ticking  of  anothev  watch. 

He  sat  up,  startled,  wondering,  and  then  h* 
laughed  happily  as  he  heard  the  sound  more 
distinctly.  It  was  the  beating  of  picks  on  the 
rock  outside.  Already  MacDonald's  men  were  at 
work  clearing  the  mouth  of  the  coyote.  In  half 
an  hour  he  would  be  out  in  the  big,  breathing 
world  again. 

The  thought  brought  him  to  his  feet.  The 
numbness  was  gone  from  his  limbs  and  he  could 
walk  about.  His  first  move  was  to  strike  a  match 
and  look  at  his  watch. 

"Half -past  ten!" 

He  spoke  the  words  aloud,  thinking  of  Me- 
leese.  In  an  hour  and  a  half  he  was  to  meet  \er 
on  the  trail.  Would  he  be  released  in  time  to 
keep  the  tryst?  How  should  he  explain  his  im 
prisonment  in  the  coyote  so  that  he  could  leave 
MacDonald  without  further  loss  of  time?  Af 
the  sound  of  the  picks  came  nearer  his  brain  be 
gan  working  faster.  If  he  could  only  evade  ex- 
136 


THE    HOUR   OF   DEATH 

planations  until  morning — and  then  reveal  the 
whole  dastardly  business  to  MacDonald !  There 
would  be  time  then  for  those  explanations,  for 
the  running  down  of  his  murderous  assailants, 
and  in  the  while  he  would  be  able  to  keep  his 
appointment  with  Meleese. 

He  was  not  long  in  finding  a  way  in  which 
this  scheme  could  be  worked,  and  gathering  up 
the  severed  ropes  and  rawhide  he  concealed  them 
between  two  of  the  powder  sacks  so  that  those 
who  entered  the  coyote  would  discover  no  signs 
of  his  terrible  imprisonment.  Close  to  the  mouth 
of  the  tunnel  there  was  a  black  rent  in  the  wall 
of  rock,  made  by  a  bursting  charge  of  dyna 
mite,  in  which  he  could  conceal  himself.  When 
the  men  were  busy  examining  the  broken  fuse  he 
would  step  out  and  join  them.  It  would  look  as 
though  he  had  crawled  through  the  tunnel  after 
them. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  mass  of  rock  rolled  down 
close  to  his  feet,  and  a  few  moments  after  he  saw 
a  shadowy  human  form  crawling  through  the 
137 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

hole  it  had  left.  A  second  followed,  and  then  a 
third — and  the  first  voice  he  heard  was  that  of 
MacDonald. 

''Give  us  the  lantern,  Bucky,"  he  called  back, 
and  a  gleam  of  light  shot  into  the  black  chamber. 
The  men  walked  cautiously  toward  the  fuse,  and 
Rowland  saw  the  little  superintendent  fall  on  his 
knees. 

"What  in  hell!"  he  heard  him  exclaim,  and 
then  there  was  a  silence.  As  quietly  as  a  cat 
Howland  worked  himself  to  the  entrance  and 
made  a  clatter  among  the  rocks.  It  was  he  who 
responded  to  the  voice. 

"What's  up,  MacDonald?" 

He  coolly  joined  the  little  group.  MacDonald 
looked  up,  and  when  he  saw  the  new  chief  bend 
ing  over  him  his  eyes  stared  in  unbounded  won 
der. 

"Howland  P'  he  gasped. 

It  was  all  he  said,  but  in  that  one  word  and  IP 
the  strange  excitement  in  the  superintendent's 
face  Howland  read  that  which  made  him  turn 
138 


THE    HOUR    OF    DEATH 

quickly  to  the  men,  giving  them  his  first  com- 
mand  as  general-in-chief  of  the  road  that  war 
going  to  the  bay. 

"Get  out  of  the  coyote,  boys,"  he  said.  "We 
won't  do  anything  more  until  morning." 

To  MacDonald,  as  the  men  went  out  ihead  of 
them,  he  added  in  a  low  voice : 

"Guard  the  entrance  to  this  tunnel  with  half 
a  dozen  of  your  best  men  to-night,  MacDonald. 
I  know  things  which  will  lead  me  to  investigate 
this  to-morrow.  I'm  going  to  leave  you  as  soon 
as  I  get  outside.  Spread  the  report  that  it  was 
simply  a  bad  fuse.  Understand?" 

He  crawled  out  ahead  of  the  superintendent, 
and  before  MacDonald  had  emerged  from  the 
coyote  he  had  already  lost  himself  in  the  starlit 
gloom  of  the  night  and  was  hastening  to  his 
tryst  with  the  beautiful  girl,  who,  he  believed, 
would  reveal  to  him  at  least  a  part  of  one  of  the 
strangest  and  most  diabolical  plots  that  had  evel 
originated  in  the  brain  of  man. 

139 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TRYST 

IT  still  lacked  nearly  an  hour  of  the  appointed 
time  when  Rowland  came  to  the  secluded 
spot  in  the  trail  where  he  was  to  meet  Meleese. 
Concealed  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  bushes  he 
seated  himself  on  the  end  of  a  fallen  spruce  and 
loaded  his  pipe,  taking  care  to  light  it  with  the 
flare  of  the  match  hidden  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hands.  For  the  first  time  since  his  terrible  ex 
perience  in  the  coyote  he  found  himself  free  to 
think,  and  more  than  ever  he  began  to  see  the 
necessity  of  coolness  and  of  judgment  in  what 
he  was  about  to  do.  Gradually,  too,  he  fought 
himself  back  into  his  old  faith  in  Meleese.  His 
blood  was  tingling  at  fever  heat  in  his  desire  for 
rengeance,  for  the  punishment  of  the  human 
fiends  who  had  attempted  to  blow  him  to  atoms, 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  there  was  no  bitterness 
140 


THE    TRYST 

in  him  toward  the  girl.  He  was  sure  that  she 
was  an  unwilling  factor  in  the  plot,  and  that  she 
was  doing  all  in  her  power  to  save  him.  At  the 
same  time  he  began  to  realize  that  he  should  no 
longer  be  influenced  by  her  pleading.  He  had 
promised — in  return  for  her  confidence  this  night 
— to  leave  unpunished  those  whom  she  wished  to 
shield.  He  would  take  back  that  promise.  Before 
she  revealed  anything  to  him  he  would  warn  her 
that  he  was  determined  to  discover  those  who  had 
twice  sought  to  kill  him. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  looked  at  his 
watch  again.  Was  it  possible  that  Meleese 
would  not  come?  He  could  not  bring  himself, 
to  believe  that  she  knew  of  his  imprisonment  in 
the  coyote — of  this  second  attempt  on  his  life. 
And  yet — if  she  did — 

He  rose  from  the  log  and  began  pacing 
quickly  back  and  forth  in  the  gloom,  his 
thoughts  racing  through  his  brain  with  increas 
ing  apprehension.  Those  who  had  imprisoned 
him  had  learned  of  his  escape  an  hour  ago. 
141 


Many  things  might  have  happened  in  that  time 
Perhapy  they  were  fleeing  from  the  camp. 
Frightened  by  their  failure,  and  fearing  tht 
'punishment  which  would  be  theirs  if  discovered, 
it  was  not  improbable  that  even  now  they  were 
many  miles  from  the  Wekusko,  hurrying  deeper 
into  the  unknown  wilderness  to  the  north.  And 
Meleese  would  be  with  them ! 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  step,  a  light,  running 
step,  and  -vith  a  recognizing  cry  he  sprang  out 
into  the  starlight  to  meet  the  slim,  panting, 
white-faced  figure  that  ran  to  him  from  between 
the  thick  walls  of  forest  trees. 

"Meleese!"  he  exclaimed  softly. 

He  held  out  his  arms  and  the  girl  ran  straight 
into  them,  thrusting  her  hands  against  his  breast, 
throwing  back  her  head  so  that  she  looked  up 
into  his  face  with  great,  staring,  horror-filled 
eyes. 

"Now — now — "  she  sobbed,  "now  will  you 
go?" 

Her  hands  left  his  breast  and  crept  to  Ids 


THE    TRYST 

shoulders;  slowly  they  slipped  over  them,  and 
as  Howland  pressed  her  closer,  his  lips  silent,  she 
^ave  an  agonized  cry  and  dropped  her  head 
against  his  shoulder,  her  whole  body  torn  in  61 
convulsion  of  grief  and  terror  that  startled  Aim. 

"You  will  go?"  she  sobbed  again  and  again. 
"You  will  go — you  will  go — " 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  her  soft  hair, 
crushing  his  face  close  to  hers. 

"No,  I  am  not  going,  dear,"  he  replied  in  a 
low,  firm  voice.  "Not  after  what  happened  to 
night." 

She  drew  away  from  him  as  quickly  as  if  he 
had  struck  her,  freeing  herself  even  from  the 
touch  of  his  hands. 

"I  heard — what  happened — an  hour  ago,"  she 
said,  her  voice  choking  her.  "I  overheard — 
them — talking."  She  struggled  hard  to  con 
trol  herself.  "You  must  leave  the  camp — to» 
night." 

In  the  gloom  she  saw  Rowland's  teeth  gleam 
ing.  There  was  no  fear  in  his  smile;  he  laughed 
143 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

gently  down  into  her  eyes  as  he  took  tar  face 
between  his  hands  again. 

"I  want  to  take  back  the  promise  that  I  gave 
you  last  night,  Meleese.  I  want  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  warn  any  whom  you  may  wish  to  warn. 
I  shall  not  return  into  the  South.  From  this  hour 
begins  the  hunt  for  the  cowardly  devils  who  have 
tried  to  murder  me.  Before  dawn  every  man  on 
the  Wekusko  will  be  in  the  search,  and  if  we  find 
them  there  shall  be  no  mercy.  Will  you  help  me, 
or—" 

She  struck  his  hands  from  her  face,  springing 
back  before  he  had  finished.  He  saw  a  sudden 
change  of  expression;  her  lips  grew  tenae  and 
firm;  from  the  death  whiteness  of  he?  face 
there  faded  slowly  away  the  look  of  soft  plead 
ing,  the  quivering  lines  of  fear.  There  was  a 
strangeness  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke — some 
thing  of  the  hard  determination  which  Howwnd 
had  put  in  his  own,  and  yet  the  tone  of  it  lacked 
his  gentleness  and  love. 

"Will  you  please  tell  me  the  time?" 
144 


THE    TRYST 

The  question  was  almost  startling.  Rowland 
held  the  dial  of  his  watch  to  the  light  of  th« 
stars. 

"It  is  a  quarter  past  midnight." 

The  faintest  shadow  of  a  smile  passed  ovej 
the  girl's  lips. 

"Are  you  certain  that  your  watch  is  not  fast  ?v 
she  asked. 

In  speechless  bewilderment  Rowland  stared  t£ 
her. 

^Because  it  will  mean  a  great  deal  to  you  aitl 
to  me  if  it  is  not  a  quarter  past  midnight,"  ccr> 
tinued  Meleese,  a  growing  glow  in  her  ey«ns. 
Suddenly  she  approached  him  and  put  both  of 
her  warm  hands  to  his  face,  holding  down  his 
arms  with  her  own.  "Listen,"  she  whispered. 
;'Is  there  nothing — nothing  that  will  make  you 
change  your  purpose,  that  will  take  yon  back 
Tnto  the  South— to-night?" 

The  nearness  of  the  sweet  face,  the  gentle 
touch  of  the  girl's  hands,  the  soft  breath  tsf  her 
tips,  sent  a  maddening  impulse  through.  How 
145 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

land  to  surrender  everything  to  her.    For  an  in 
stant  he  wavered. 

"There  might  be  one — just  one  thing  thaf 
would  take  me  away  to-night,"  he  replied,  his 
voice  trembling  with  the  great  love  that  thrilled 
him.  "For  you,  Meleese,  I  would  give  up  every 
thing — ambition,  fortune,  the  building  of  this 
road.  If  I  go  to-night  will  you  go  with  me? 
Will  you  promise  to  be  my  wife  when  we  reach 
Le  Pas?" 

A  look  of  ineffable  tenderness  came  into  the 
beautiful  eyes  so  near  to  his  own. 

"That  is  impossible.  You  will  not  love  me 
when  you  know  what  I  am — what  I  have  done — " 

He  stopped  her. 

"Have  you  done  wrong — a  great  wrong?" 

For  a  moment  her  eyes  faltered;  then,  hesi« 
tatingly,  there  fell  from  her  lips,  "I — don't— 
know.  I  believe  I  have.  But  it's  not  that — iff 
not  that!" 

"Do  you  mean  that — that  I  have  no  right  t< 
tell  you  I  love  you  ?"  he  asked.    "Do  you  meac 
146 


THE    TRYST 

that  it  is  wrong  for  you  to  listen  to  me?  I — I— 
took  it  for  granted  that  you  were  a — girl — 
that—" 

"No,  no,  it  is  not  that,"  she  cried  quickly? 
catching  his  meaning.  "It  is  not  wrong  for 
you  to  love  me."  Suddenly  she  asked  again, 
"Will  you  please  tell  me  what  time  it  is — now?" 

He  looked  again. 

"Twenty-five  minutes  after  midnight." 

"Let  us  go  farther  up  the  trail."  she  whis 
pered.  "I  am  afraid  here." 

She  led  the  way,  passing  swiftly  beyond  the 
path  that  branched  out  to  his  cabin.  Two  hun 
dred  yards  beyond  this  a  tree  had  fallen  on  the 
edge  of  the  trail,  and  seating  herself  on  it  Me- 
leese  motioned  for  him  to  sit  down  beside  her. 
Rowland's  back  was  to  the  thick  bushes  behind 
tfiem.  He  looked  at  the  girl,  but  she  had  turned 
tway  her  face.  Suddenly  she  sprang  from  the 
log  and  stood  in  front  of  him. 

"Now !"  she  cried.  "Now !"  and  at  that  signal 
Rowland's  arms  were  seized  from  behind,  and 
147 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

in  another  instant  he  was  struggling  feebly  ii» 
the  grip  of  powerful  arms  which  had  fastened 
themselves  about  him  like  wire  cable,  and  the  cry 
that  rose  to  his  lips  was  throttled  by  a  hand  oveS 
his  mouth.  For  an  instant  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  girl's  white  face  as  she  stood  in  the  trail ; 
then  strong  hands  pulled  him  back,  while  others 
bound  his  wrists  and  still  others  held  his  legs. 
Everything  had  passed  in  a  few  seconds.  Help 
lessly  bound  and  gagged  he  lay  on  his  back  in 
the  snow,  listening  to  the  low  voices  that  came 
faintly  to  him  from  beyond  the  bushes.  He 
could  understand  nothing  that  they  said — and 
yet  he  was  sure  that  he  recognized  among  them 
the  voice  of  Meleese. 

The  voices  became  fainter ;  he  heard  retreating 
footsteps,  and  at  last  they  died  away  entirely. 
Through  a  rift  in  the  trees  straight  above  him 
the  white,  cold  stars  of  the  night  gleamed  dowr 
on  him,  and  Howland  stared  up  at  them  fixedly 
until  they  seemed  to  be  hopping  and  dancing 
about  in  the  skies.  He  wanted  to  swear — yell — 
148 


THE    TRYST 

fight.  In  these  moments  that  he  lay  on  iiie 
in  the  freezing  snow  a  million  demons  were  born 
in  his  blood.  The  girl  had  betrayed  him  again ' 
This  time  he  could  find  no  excuse — no  pardoc 
for  her.  She  had  accepted  his  love — had  allowed 
him  to  kiss  her,  to  hold  her  in  his  arms — while 
beneath  that  hypocrisy  she  had  plotted  his  down 
fall  a  second  time.  Deliberately  she  had  given 
the  signal  for  attack,  and  now — 

He  heard  again  the  quick,  running  step  that 
he  had  recognized  on  the  trail.  The  bushes  be 
hind  him  parted,  and  in  the  white  starlight  Me- 
leese  fell  on  her  knees  at  his  side,  her  glorious 
face  bending  over  him  in  a  grief  that  he  had 
never  seen  in  it  before,  her  eyes  shining  on  hirr 
with  a  great  love.  Without  speaking  she  lifted 
his  head  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm  and  crushec1 
her  own  down  against  it,  kissing  him,  and  softly 
sobbing  his  name. 

"Good-by,"  he  heard  her  breathe.  "Good-b\ 
— good-by — " 

He  struggled  to  cry  out  as  she  lowered  his 
149 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

head  back  on  the  snow,  to  free  his  hands,  to  hold 
her  with  him — but  he  saw  her  face  only  once 
more,  bending  over  him ;  felt  the  warm  pressure 
of  her  lips  to  his  forehead,  and  then  again  he 
could  bear  her  footsteps  hurrying  away  through 
the 


CHAPTER  X 

A  BACE  INTO  THE  NORTH 

THAT  Meleese  loved  him,  that  she  had  taken 
his  head  in  her  arms,  and  had  kissed  him, 
was  the  one  consuming  thought  in  Rowland's 
brain  for  many  minutes  after  she  had  left  him 
bound  and  gagged  on  the  snow.  That  she  had 
made  no  effort  to  free  him  did  not  at  first  strike 
him  as  significant.  He  still  felt  the  sweet,  warm 
touch  of  her  lips,  the  pressure  of  her  arms,  the 
smothering  softness  of  her  hair.  It  was  not 
until  he  again  heard  approaching  sounds  that 
he  returned  once  more  to  a  full  consciousness  of 
the  mysterious  thing  that  had  happened.  He 
heard  first  of  all  the  creaking  of  a  toboggan  on 
the  hard  crust,  then  the  pattering  of  dogs'  feet, 
and  after  that  the  voices  of  men.  The  sounds 
stopped  on  the  trail  a  dozen  feet  away  from 
him. 

151 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

With  a  strange  thrill  he  recognized  Croisset's 
?oice. 

"You  must  be  sure  that  you  make  no  mistake,* 
he  heard  the  half-breed  say.  "Go  to  the  water 
fall  at  the  head  of  the  lake  and  heave  down  a  big 
rock  where  the  ice  is  open  and  the  water  boiling. 
Track  up  the  snow  with  a  pair  of  M'seur  How- 
land's  high-heeled  boots  and  leave  his  hat  tangled 
in  the  bushes.  Then  tell  the  superintendent  that 
he  stepped  on  the  stone  and  that  it  rolled  down 
and  toppled  him  into  the  chasm.  They  could 
never  find  his  body — and  they  will  send  down  for 
a  new  engineer  in  place  of  the  lost  M'seur." 

Stupefied  with  horror,  Howland  strained  his 
ears  to  catch  the  rest  of  the  cold-blooded  scheme 
which  he  was  overhearing,  but  the  voices  grew 
lower  and  he  understood  no  more  that  was  said 
until  Croisset,  coming  nearer,  called  out: 

"Help  me  with  the  M'seur  before  you  go 
Jackpine.  He  is  a  dead  weight  with  all  those 
rawhides  about  him." 

As  coolly  as  though  he  were  not  more  than  a 
152 


A   KACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

chunk  of  stovewood,  Croisset  and  the  Indian 
came  through  the  bushes,  seized  him  by  the  head 
and  feet,  carried  him  out  into  the  trail  and  laic? 
him  lengthwise  on  the  sledge. 

"I  hope  you  have  not  caught  cold  lying  in 
the  snow,  M'seur,"  said  Croisset,  bolstering  up> 
the  engineer's  head  and  shoulders  and  covering 
him  with  heavy  furs.  "We  should  have  been 
back  sooner,  but  it  was  impossible.  Hoo-la, 
Woonga !"  he  called  softly  to  his  lead-dog.  "Get 
up  there,  you  wolf-hound !" 

As  the  sledge  started,  with  Croisset  running 
close  to  the  leader,  Rowland  heard  the  low  snap 
ping  of  a  whip  behind  him  and  another  voice 
urging  on  other  dogs.  With  an  effort  that  al 
most  dislocated  his  neck  he  twisted  himself  so  he 
could  look  back  of  him.  A  hundred  yards  away 
he  discerned  a  second  team  following  in  his 
trail;  he  saw  a  shadowy  figure  running  at  the 
head  of  the  dogs,  but  what  there  was  on  the 
sledge,  or  what  it  meant,  he  could  not  see  or 
surmise.  Mile  after  mile  the  two  sledges  con- 
153 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

tinued  without  a  stop.  Croisset  did  not  turn  his 
head;  no  word  fell  from  his  lips,  except  an  oc 
casional  signal  to  the  dogs.  The  trail  had  turned 
flow  straight  into  the  North,  and  soon  Rowland 
could  make  out  no  sign  of  it,  but  knew  only 
that  they  were  twisting  through  the  most  open 
places  in  the  forests,  and  that  the  play  of  the 
Polar  lights  was  never  over  his  left  shoulder  or 
his  right,  but  always  in  his  face. 

They  had  traveled  for  several  hours  when 
Croisset  gave  a  sudden  shrill  shout  to  the  rear 
most  sledge  and  halted  his  own.  The  dogs  fell 
in  a  panting  group  on  the  snow,  and  while  they 
were  resting  the  half-breed  relieved  his  prisoner 
of  the  soft  buckskin  that  had  been  used  as  a  gag. 

"It  will  be  perfectly  safe  for  you  to  talk  now, 
M'seur,  and  to  shout  as  loudly  as  you  please," 
he  said.  " After  I  have  looked  into  your  pockets 
1  will  free  your  hands  so  that  you  can  smoke. 
Are  you  comfortable?" 

"Comfortable — be  damned!"  were  the  first 
words  that  fell  from  Rowland's  lips,  a»»  tut 
154 


A   RACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

blowd  boiled  at  the  sociable  way  in  which  Croisset 
grinned  down  into  his  face.  "So  you're  in  it- 
too,  eh? — and  that  lying  girl — " 

The  smile  left  Croisset's  face. 

"Do  you  mean  Meleese,  M'seur  Rowland?" 

"Yes." 

Croisset  leaned  down  with  his  black  eyes 
gleaming  like  coals. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  was  her, 
M'seur?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  yet  one  filled 
with  a  threat  which  stilled  the  words  of  passion 
which  the  engineer  was  on  the  point  of  uttering. 
"Do  you  know  what  I  would  do?  I  would  kill 
you — kill  you  inch  by  inch — torture  y:»"i,  That 
is  what  I  would  do." 

"For  God's  sake,  Croisset,  tell  me  why- 
why — " 

Croisset  had  found  Rowland's  pistol  and  f reecf 
his  hands,  and  the  engineer  stretched  them  oif 
entreatingly. 

"I  would  give  my  life  for  that  girl,  Croissefl 
C  told  her  so  back  there,  and  she  came  to  me  wheJV 
155 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

I  was  in  the  snow  and — "  He  caught  himself, 
adding  to  what  he  had  left  incomplete.  "There 
is  a  mistake,  Croisset.  I  am  not  the  man  they 
want  to  kill!" 

Croisset  was  smiling  at  him  again. 

"Smoke — and  think,  M'seur.  It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  tell  you  why  you  should  be  dead — but 
you  ought  to  know,  unless  your  memory  is  shorter 
than  a  child's." 

He  went  to  the  dogs,  stirring  them  up  with  the 
cracking  of  his  whip,  and  when  Rowland  turned 
to  look  back  he  saw  a  bright  flare  of  light  where 
the  other  sledge  had  stopped.  A  man's  voice  came 
from  the  farther  gloom,  calling  to  Croisset  in 
French. 

"He  tells  me  I  am  to  take  you  on  alone,"  said 
Croisset,  after  he  had  replied  to  the  words 
spoken  in  a  patois  which  Howland  could  not 
understand.  "They  will  join  us  again  very 
eoon." 

"They!"   exclaimed  Howland.    "How  many 
wiD  it  take  to  kill  me,  my  dear  Croisset?" 
156 


*    A   RACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

The  half-breed  smiled  down  into  his  facf 
again. 

"You  may  thank  the  Blessed  Virgin  that  they 
are  with  us,"  he  replied  softly.  "If  you  have  any 
hope  outside  of  Heaven,  M'seur,  it  is  on  that 
sledge  behind." 

As  he  went  again  to  the  dogs,  straightening 
the  leader  in  his  traces,  Rowland  stared  back  at 
the  firelit  space  in  the  forest  gloom.  He  could  see 
a  man  adding  fuel  to  the  blaze,  and  beyond  him, 
shrouded  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees,  an  in 
distinct  tangle  of  dogs  and  sledge.  As  he 
strained  his  eyes  to  discover  more  there  was  a 
movement  beyond  the  figure  over  the  fire  and  the 
young  engineer's  heart  leaped  with  a  sudden 
thrill.  Croisset's  voice  sounded  in  a  shrill  shout 
behind  him,  and  at  that  warning  cry  in  French 
the  second  figure  sprang  back  into  the  gloom. 
But  Howland  had  recognized  it,  and  the  chilled 
blood  in  his  veins  leaped  into  warm  life  again  at 
the  knowledge  that  it  was  Meleese  who  was  trail- 
'  <».g  behind  them  on  the  second  sledge ! 
157 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

"When  you  yell  like  that  give  me  a  little  warn 
ing  if  you  please,  Jean,"  he  said,  speaking  as 
Coolly  as  though  he  had  not  recognized  the  figure 
that  had  come  for  an  instant  into  the  firelight. 
"It  is  enough  to  startle  the  life  out  of  one !" 

"It  is  our  way  of  saying  good-by,  M'seur,"  re 
plied  Croisset  with  a  fierce  snap  of  his  whip.. 
"Hoo-la,  get  along  there !"  he  cried  to  the  dogs, 
and  in  half  a  dozen  breaths  the  fire  was  lost  to 
view. 

Dawn  comes  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
northern  mid-winter;  beyond  the  fiftieth  degree 
the  first  ruddy  haze  of  the  sun  begins  to  warm 
the  southeastern  skies  at  nine,  and  its  glow  had 
already  risen  above  the  forests  before  Croisset 
stopped  his  team  again.  For  two  hours  he  had 
not  spoken  a  word  to  his  prisoner  and  after  sev 
eral  unavailing  efforts  to  break  the  other's  taci- 
£urnity  Howland  lapsed  into  a  silence  of  his  own. 
When  he  had  brought  his  tired  dogs  to  a  halt, 
Croisset  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"We  are  going  to  camp  here  for  a  f tsi  hours," 
158 


A   RACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

he  explained.  "If  you  will  pledge  me  your  word 
of  honor  that  you  will  make  no  attempt  to  escape 
I  will  give  you  the  use  of  your  legs  until  aftef 
breakfast,  M'seur.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"Have  you  a  Bible,  Croisset?" 

"No,  M'seur,  but  I  have  the  cross  of  our  Vir< 
gin,  given  to  me  by  the  missioner  at  York  Fac 
tory." 

"Then  I  will  swear  by  it — I  will  swear  by  all 
the  crosses  and  all  the  Bibles  in  the  world  that  I 
will  make  no  effort  to  escape.  I  am  paralyzed, 
Croisset !  I  couldn't  run  for  a  week !" 

Croisset  was  searching  in  his  pockets. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  cried  excitedly,  "I  have  lost 
it!  Ah,  come  to  think,  M'seur,  I  gave  the  cross 
to  my  Mariane  before  I  went  into  the  South* 
But  I  will  take  your  word." 

"And  who  is  Mariane,  Jean?  Will  she  also  be 
in  at  the 'kill?'" 

"Mariane  is  my  wife,  M'seur.    Ah,  ma  belU 
Mariane — ma  cheri — the  daughter  of  an  Indian 
princess  and  the  granddaughter  of  a  chef  de 
159 


bata'dlon,  M'seur!  Could  there  be  better  than 
that?  And  she  is  be-e-e-utiful,  M'seur,  with  hair 
like  the  top  side  of  a  raven's  wing  with  the  sun 
shining  on  it,  and — " 

"You  love  her  a  great  deal,  Jean." 

"Next  to  the  Virgin — and — it  may  be  a  little 
better." 

Croisset  had  severed  the  rope  about  the  en 
gineer's  legs,  and  as  he  raised  his  glowing  eyes 
Rowland  reached  out  and  put  both  hands  on 
his  shoulders. 

"And  in  just  that  way  I  love  Meleese,"  he  said 
softly.  "Jean,  won't  you  be  my  friend?  I  don't 
want  to  escape.  I'm  not  a  coward.  Won't  you 
think  of  what  your  Mariane  might  do,  and  be  a 
friend  to  me?  You  would  die  for  Mariane  if  it 
were  necessary.  And  I  would  die  for  the  girl 
back  on  that  sledge.;> 

He  had  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  pointed  into 
,tlie  forests  through  which  they  had  come. 

"I  saw  her  in  the  firelight,  Jean.  Why  is  she 
following  us?  Why  do  they  want  to  kill  me?  If 
160 


A   RACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

you  would  only  give  me  a  chance  to  prove  that  it 
"s  all  a  mistake — that  I — " 

Croisset  reached  out  and  took  his  hand. 

"M'seur,  I  would  like  to  help  you,"  he  inter 
rupted.  "I  liked  you  that  night  we  came  in  to 
gether  from  the  fight  on  the  trail.  I  have  liked 
you  since.  And  yet,  if  I  was  in  their  place,  I 
would  kill  you  even  though  I  like  you.  It  is  a 
great  duty  to  kill  you.  They  did  not  do  wrong 
when  they  tied  you  in  the  coyote.  They  did  not 
do  wrong  when  they  tried  to  kill  you  on  the  trail. 
But  i  Aave  taken  a  solemn  oath  to  tell  you  noth 
ing;  nothing  beyond  this — that  so  long  as  you 
are  with  me,  and  that  sledge  is  behind  us,  your 
life  is  not  in  danger.  I  will  tell  you  nothing 
more.  Are  you  hungry,  M'seur?" 

"Starved!"  said  Rowland. 

He  stumbled  a  few  steps  out  into  the  snow,  the 
Dumbness  in  his  limbs  forcing  him  to  catch  at 
frees  and  saplings  to  save  himself  from  falling. 
He  was  astonished  at  Croisset's  words  and  more 
confused  than  ever  at  the  half-breed's  assurance 
161 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

that  hw  life  was  no  longer  in  immediate  peril. 
To  him  this  meant  that  Meleese  had  not  only 
warned  him  but  was  now  playing  an  active  part 
in  preserving  his  life,  and  this  conclusion  addet* 
to  his  perplexity.  Who  was  this  girl  who  a  few 
hours  before  had  deliberately  lured  him  among 
his  enemies  and  who  was  now  fighting  to  save 
him?  The  question  held  a  deeper  significance  for 
him  than  when  he  had  asked  himself  this  same 
thing  at  Prince  Albert,  and  when  Croisset  called 
for  him  to  return  to  the  camp-fire  and  breakfast 
he  touched  once  more  the  forbidden  subject. 

"Jean,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  he 
said,  seating  himself  on  the  sledge,  "but  I've  got 
to  get  a  few  things  out  of  my  system.  I  believe 
this  Meleese  of  yours  is  a  bad  woman." 

Like  a  flash  Croisset  struck  at  the  bait  which 
Rowland  threw  out  to  him.  He  leaned  a  little 
forward,  a  hand  quivering  on  his  knife,  his  eyes 
flashing  fire.  Involuntarily  the  engineer  recoiled 
from  that  animal-like  crouch,  from  the  blacls 
rage  which  was  growing  each  instant  in  the  half-* 
162 


A   RACE   INTO   THE   NORTH 

breed's  face.  Yet  Croisset  spoke  softly  and  with 
out  excitement,  even  while  his  shoulders  and 
arms  were  twitching  like  a  forest  cat  about  tc 
spring. 

"M'seur,  no  one  in  the  world  must  say  that 
about  my  Mariane,  and  next  to  her  they  must  not 
say  it  about  Meleese.  Up  there — "  and  he  point 
ed  still  farther  into  the  north — "I  know  of  a 
hundred  men  between  the  Athabasca  and  the  bay 
who  would  kill  you  for  what  you  have  said.  And 
it  is  not  for  Jean  Croisset  to  listen  to  it  here.  I 
will  kill  you  unless  you  take  it  back !" 

"God !"  breathed  Howland.  He  looked  straight 
into  Croisset's  face.  "I'm  glad — it's  so — Jean," 
he  added  slowly.  "Don't  you  understand,  man? 
I  love  her.  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said.  I  would 
kill  for  her,  too,  Jean.  I  said  that  to  find  out — 
what  you  would  do — " 

Slowly  Croisset  relaxed,  a  faint  smile  curling 
his  thin  lips. 

"If  it  was  a  joke,  M'seur,  it  was  a  bad  one." 

"It  wasn't  a  joke,"  cried  Howland.  "It  was  a 
163 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

serious  effort  to  make  you  tell  me  something 
about  Meleese.  Listen,  Jean — she  told  me  back 
there  that  it  was  not  wrong  for  me  to  love  her. 
and  when  I  lay  bound  and  gagged  in  the  snow 
she  came  to  me  and — and  kissed  me.  I  don't  un 
derstand- — " 

Croisset  interrupted  him. 

"Did  she  do  that,  M'seur?" 

"I  swear  it." 

"Then  you  are  fortunate,"  smiled  Jean  softly, 
"for  I  will  stake  my  hope  in  the  blessed  here 
after  that  she  has  never  done  that  to  another 
man,  M'seur.  But  it  will  never  happen  again." 

"I  believe  that  it  will — unless  you  kill  me." 

"And  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  kill  you  if  I  think 
that  it  is  likely  to  happen  again.  There  are 
others  who  would  kill  you — knowing  that  it  has 
happened  but  once.  But  you  must  stop  this  talk, 
M'seur.  If  you  persist  I  shall  put  the  rawhide 
over  your  mouth  again." 

"And  if  I  object— fight?" 

"You  have  given  me  your  word  of  honor.  Up 
164 


A   RACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

here  in  the  big  snows  the  keeping  of  that  wwrd 
is  our  first  law.  If  you  break  it  I  will  kill  you." 

•'Good  Lord,  but  you're  a  cheerful  compan- 
on,"  exclaimed  Rowland,  laughing  in  spite  of 
Aimself.  "Do  you  know,  Croisset,  this  whole  situ 
ation  has  a  good  deal  of  humor  as  well  as  trag 
edy  about  it.  I  must  be  a  most  important  cuss, 
whoever  I  am.  Ask  me  who  I  am,  Croisset?" 

"And  who  are  you,  M'seur?*' 

"I  don't  know,  Jean.  Fact,  I  don't.  I  used  to 
think  that  I  was  a  most  ambitious  young  cub  in 
a  big  engineering  establishment  down  in  Chi 
cago.  But  I  guess  I  was  dreaming.  Funny 
dream,  wasn't  it?  Thought  I  came  up  here  to 
build  a  road  somewhere  through  these  infernal — 
no,  I  mean  these  beautiful  snows — but  my  mind 
must  have  been  wandering  again.  Ever  heat  of 
an  insane  asylum,  Croisset?  Am  I  in  a  big  stone 
building  with  iron  bars  at  the  windows,  and  are 
you  my  keeper,  just  come  in  to  amuse  me  for  a 
time  ?  It's  kind  of  you,  Croisset,  and  I  hope  thav 
some  day  I  shall  get  my  mind  back  so  that  I  car 
165 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

fihank  you  decently.  Perhaps  you'll  go  mad  some 
day,  Jean,  and  dream  about  pretty  girls,  and 
railroads,  and  forests,  and  snows — and  then  IT 
oe  youi  keeper.  Have  a  cigar?  I've  got  just  two 
left." 

"Mm»  J)ieu!"  gasped  Jean.  "Yes,  I  will 
smoke,  IVPeeur.  Is  that  moose  steak  good?" 

"Fine.  1  haven't  eaten  a  mouthful  since  years 
ago,  when  I  dreamed  that  I  sat  on  a  case  of 
dynamite  just  about  to  blow  up.  Did  you  ever 
5it  on  a  case  of  dynamite  just  about  to  blow  up, 
Jean?" 

"No,  M'seur.  It  must  be  unpleasant." 

"That  dream  was  what  turned  my  hair  white, 
Jean.  See  how  white  it  is — whiter  than  the 
snow  P* 

Croisset  looked  at  him  a  little  anxiously  as  he 
ate  his  meat,  and  at  the  gathering  unrest  in  his 
Byes  Rowland  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Jean,"  he  spoke  sootft 
ingly.  "I'm  harmless.  But  I  promise  you  that 
111  become  violent  unless  something  reasonable 
166 


A   RACE    INTO   THE   NORTH 

occurs  pretty  soon.  Hello,  are  you  going  to  start 
?o  soon?" 

"Right  away,  M'seur,"  said  Croisset,  who  was 
Stirring  up  the  dogs.  "Will  you  walk  and  run9 
ar  ride?" 

"Walk  and  run,  with  your  permission." 

"You  have  it,  M'seur,  but  if  you  attempt  to 
escape  I  must  shoot  you.  Run  on  the  right  of 
the  dogs — even  with  me.  I  will  take  this  slide." 

Until  Croisset  stopped  again  in  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon  Howland  watched  the  backward 
trail  for  the  appearance  of  the  second  sledge,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  it.  Once  he  ventured  to 
bring  up  the  subject  to  Croisset,  who  did  no 
more  than  reply  .vith  a  hunch  of  his  shoulders 
and  a  quick  look  which  warned  the  engineer  to 
keep  his  silence.  After  their  second  meal  the 
jjjourney  was  resumed,  and  by  referring  occasion 
ally  to  his  compass  Howland  observed  that  the 
irail  Tvas  swinging  gradually  to  the  eastward 
Long  before  dusk  exhaustion  compelled  him  to 
ride  once  more  on  the  sledge.  Croisset  seemed 
167 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

ureless,  and  under  the  early  glow  of  the  star* 
and  iha  red  moon  he  still  led  on  the  worn  pad? 
antil  at  tast  it  stopped  on  the  summit  of  a  moun 
tainous  ridge,  with  a  vast  plain  stretching  into 
the  north  as  far  as  the  eyes  could  see  through  the 
white  gloom.  The  half-breed  came  back  to  where 
Howland  was  seated  on  the  sledge. 

"We  are  going  but  a  little  farther,  M^'seur,*4 
he  said.  "I  must  replace  the  rawhide  over  you. 
mouth  and  the  thongs  about  your  wrists  I  aro 
sorry — but  I  will  leave  your  legs  free." 

"Thanks,"  said  Howland.  "But,  really,  it  is 
•unnecessary.  Croisset.  I  am  properly  subdued  to 
the  fact  that  fate  is  determined  to  play  out  this 
interesting  game  of  ball  with  me,  and  no  longer 
knowing  where  I  am,  I  promise  you  to  do  nothing 
more  exciting  thaii  smoke  my  pipe  if  you  wfl) 
allow  me  to  go  along  peaceably  at  you*  side.* 

Croisset  hesitated. 

"You  will  not  attempt  to  escape— &o*d! 
*iold  your  tongue?'*  he  asked 

"Yet.* 

168 


A    RACE    INTO    THE    NORTH 

Jean  drew  forth  his  revolver  and  deliberately 
cocked  it. 

"Bear  in  mind,  M'seur,  that  I  will  kill  you  if 
you  break  your  word.  You  may  go  ahead." 

And  he  pointed  down  the  side  of  the  mountair 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    HOUSE   OF    THE    RED    DEATH 

HALF-WAY  down  the  ridge  a  low  word 
from  Croisset  stopped  tha  engineer.  Jean 
had  toggled  his  team  with  a  stout  length  of 
babeesh  on  the  mountain  top  and  he  was  looking 
back  when  Rowland  turned  toward  him.  The 
sharp  edge  of  that  part  of  the  mountain  from 
which  they  were  descending  stood  out  in  a  clear- 
cut  line  against  the  sky,  and  on  this  edge  the  six 
dogs  of  the  team  sat  squat  on  their  haunches, 
silent  and  motionless,  like  strangely  carved  gar 
goyles  placed  there  to  guard  the  limitless  plains 
below.  Howland  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth 
Is  he  watched  the  staring  interest  of  Croisset. 

•om  the  man  he  looked  up  again  at  the  dogs. 

here  was  something  in  their  sphynx-like  atti- 
hide,  in  the  moveless  reaching  of  their  muzzles 
**n*  into  the  wonderful  starlit  mystery  of  the  stili 
170 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

night  that  filled  him  with  an  indefinable  sense  of 
awe.  Then  there  came  to  his  ears  the  sound  that 
had  stopped  Croisset — a  low,  moaning  whin* 
which  seemed  to  have  neither  beginning  nor  end, 
but  which  was  borne  in  on  his  senses  as  though 
it  were  a  part  of  the  soft  movement  of  the  air 
he  breathed — a  note  of  infinite  sadness  which  held 
him  startled  and  without  movement,  as  it  held 
Jean  Croisset.  And  just  as  he  thought  that  the 
thing  had  died  away,  the  wailing  came  again, 
rising  higher  and  higher,  until  at  last  there  rose 
over  him  a  single  long  howl  that  chilled  the  blood 
to  his  very  marrow.  It  was  like  the  wolf-howl  of 
that  first  night  he  had  looked  on  the  wilderness, 
and  yet  unlike  it ;  in  the  first  it  had  been  the  cry 
of  the  savage,  of  hunger,  of  the  unending  deso* 
lation  of  life  that  had  thrilled  him.  In  this  it 
was  death.  He  stood  shivering  as  Croisset  came 
down  to  him,  his  thin  face  shining  white  in  the 
starlight.  There  was  no  other  sound  save  the 
excited  beating  of  life  in  their  own  bodies  wher 
Jean  spoke. 

171 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

"M'seur,  our  dogs  howl  like  that  only  when 
some  one  is  dead  or  about  to  die,"  he  whispered. 
;<It  was  Woonga  who  gave  the  cry.  He  has  lived 
for  eleven  years  and  I  have  never  known  him  to 
fail." 

There  was  an  uneasy  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"I  must  tie  your  hands,  M'seur." 

"But  I  have  given  you  my  word,  Jean — " 

"Your  hands,  M'seur.  There  is  already  death 
below  us  in  the  plain,  or  it  is  to  come  very  soon. 
I  must  tie  your  hands." 

Rowland  thrust  his  wrists  behind  him  and 
about  them  Jean  twisted  a  thong  of  babeesh. 

"I  believe  I  understand,"  he  spoke  softly,  lis 
tening  again  for  the  chilling  wail  from  the  moun 
tain  top.  "You  are  afraid  that  I  will  kill  you." 

"It  is  a  warning,  M'seur.  You  might  try. 
But  I  should  probably  kill  you.  As  it  is — "  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  led  the  way  down 
the  ridge — "as  it  is,  there  is  small  chance  of 
Jean  Croisset  answering  the  call." 

"May  those  saints  of  yours  preserve  raw,  Jemc. 
172 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

but  this  is  all  very  cheerful !"  grunted  Rowland, 
half  laughing  in  spite  of  himself.  "Now  that  I'm 
tied  up  again,  who  the  devil  is  there  to  die — but 
me?" 

"That  is  a  hard  question,  M'seur,"  replied  the 
half-breed  with  grim  seriousness.  "Perhaps  it  is 
your  turn.  I  half  believe  that  it  is." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when 
there  came  again  the  moaning  howl  from  the 
top  of  the  ridge. 

"You're  getting  on  my  nerves,  Jean — you  and 
that  accursed  dog!" 

"Silence,  M'seur!" 

Out  of  the  grim  loneliness  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  there  loomed  a  shadow  which  at  first 
Rowland  took  to  be  a  huge  mass  of  rock.  A  few 
steps  farther  and  he  saw  that  it  was  a  building. 
Croisset  gripped  him  firmly  by  the  arm. 

"Stay  here,"  he  commanded.  "I  will  returr 
soon." 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Howland  waited. 
Twice  in  that  interval  the  dog  howled  above  him. 
173 


DANGER    TRAIL 

He  was  glad  when  Croisset  appeared  out  of  the 
gloom. 

"It  is  as  I  thought,  M'seur.  There  is  death 
•$own  here.  Come  with  me !" 

The  shadow  of  the  big  building  shrouded  them 
as  they  approached.  Howland  could  make  out 
that  it  was  built  of  massive  logs  and  that  there 
seemed  to  be  neither  door  nor  window  on  their 
side.  And  yet  when  Jean  hesitated  for  an  instant 
before  a  blotch  of  gloom  that  was  deeper  than 
the  others,  he  knew  that  they  had  come  to  an  en 
trance.  Croisset  advanced  softly,  sniffing  the  air 
suspiciously  with  his  thin  nostrils,  and  listening, 
with  Howland  so  close  to  him  that  their  shoul 
ders  touched.  From  the  top  of  the  mountain 
there  came  again  the  mournful  death-song  of  old 
Woonga,  and  Jean  shivered.  Howland  stared 
into  the  blotch  of  gloom,  and  still  staring  he  fol 
lowed  Croisset — entered — and  disappeared  in 
it.  About  them  was  the  stillness  and  the  damp 
smell  of  desertion.  There  was  no  visible  sign  of 
life,  no  breathing,  no  movement  but  their  own, 
174 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

and  yet  Howland  could  feel  the  half-breed's  hand 
clutch  him  nervously  by  the  arm  as  they  went 
step  by  step  into  the  black  and  silent  mystery  of 
the  place.  Soon  there  came  a  fumbling  of  Crois- 
set's  hand  at  a  latch  and  they  passed  through  a 
second  door.  Then  Jean  struck  a  match. 

Half  a  dozen  steps  away  was  a  table  and  on 
the  table  a  lamp.  Croisset  lighted  it,  and  with  a 
quiet  laugh  faced  the  engineer.  They  were  in  a 
low,  dungeon-like  chamber,  without  a  window 
and  with  but  the  one  door  through  which  they 
had  entered.  The  table,  two  chairs,  a  stove  and 
a  bunk  built  against  one  of  the  log  walls  were  all 
that  Howland  could  see.  But  it  was  not  the  bar 
renness  of  what  he  imagined  was  to  be  his  new 
prison  that  held  his  eyes  in  staring  inquiry  on 
Croisset.  It  was  the  look  in  his  companion's 
face,  the  yellow  pallor  of  fear — a  horror — that 
had  taken  possession  of  it.  The  half-breed  closed 
and  bolted  the  door,  and  then  sat  down  beside  the 
table,  his  thin  face  peering  up  through  the  sickly! 
lamp-glow  at  the  engineer. 
175 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

*'M'seur,  it  would  be  hard  for  you  to  guess 
where  you  are." 

Rowland  waited. 

"If  you  had  lived  in  this  country  long, 
M'seur,  you  would  have  heard  of  la  Maison  de 
Mort  Rouge — the  House  of  the  Red  Death,  as 
you  would  call  it.  That  is  where  we  are — in  the 
dungeon  room.  It  is  a  Hudson  Bay  post,  aban 
doned  almost  since  I  can  remember.  When  I  was 
a  child  the  smallpox  plague  came  this  way  and 
killed  all  the  people.  Nineteen  years  ago  the  red 
plague  came  again,  and  not  one  lived  through  it 
in  this  Paste  de  Mort  Rouge.  Since  then  it  has 
been  left  to  the  weasels  and  the  owls.  It  is 
shunned  by  every  living  soul  between  the  Atha 
basca  and  the  bay.  That  is  why  you  are  safe 
here." 

"Ye  gods !"  breathed  Howland.  "Is  there  any 
thing  more,  Croisset?  Safe  from  what,  manr 
Safe  from  what?" 

"From  those  who  wish  to  kill  you,  M'seur. 
You  would  not  go  into  the  South,  so  la  belle 


THE    HOUSE    OF   THE    RED 

Meleese  has  compelled  you  to  go  into  the  K  orth, 
Comprenez-vous  f  " 

For  a  moment  Howland  sat  as  if  stunned. 

"Do    you    understand,     M'seur?"     persisted 

Croisset,  smiling. 

"I — I — think  I  do,"  replied  Howland  tensely  r 
"You  mean — Meleese — " 

Jean  took  the  words  from  him. 

"I  mean  that  you  would  have  died  last  night, 
M'seur,  had  it  not  been  for  Meleese.  You  es 
caped  from  the  coyote — but  you  would  not  have 
escaped  from  the  other.  That  is  all  I  can  tell 
you.  But  you  will  be  safe  here.  Those  who  seek 
your  life  will  soon  believe  that  you  are  dead,  and 
then  we  will  let  you  go  back.  Is  that  not  a  kind 
fate  for  one  who  deserves  to  be  cut  into  bits  and 
fed  to  the  ravens  ?" 

"You  will  tell  me  nothing  more,  Jean?"  the  en 
gineer  asked. 

"Nothing — except  that  while  I  would  like  to 
kill  you  I  have  sympathy  for  you.  That,  per 
haps,  is  because  I  once  lived  in  the  South.  Fee 
177 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

six  years  I  was  with  the  company  in  Montreal, 
where  I  went  to  school." 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  tying  the  flap  of  his  cari 
bou  skin  coat  about  his  throat.  Then  he  unboltet 
and  opened  the  door.    Faintly  there  came  to 
them,  as  if  from  a  great  distance,  the  wailing 
grief  of  Woonga,  the  dog. 

"You  said  there  was  death  here,"  whispereu 
Howland,  leaning  close  to  his  shoulder. 

"There  is  one  who  has  lived  here  since  the  last 
plague,"  replied  Croisset  under  his  breath.  "He 
lost  his  wife  and  children  and  it  drove  him  mad. 
That  is  why  we  came  down  so  quietly.  He  lived 
in  a  little  cabin  out  there  on  the  edge  of  the  clear 
ing,  and  when  I  went  to  it  to-night  there  was  a 
sapling  over  the  house  with  a  flag  at  the  end  of 
it.  When  the  plague  comes  to  us  we  hang  out  a 
red  flag  as  a  warning  to  others.  That  is  one  of 
jur  laws.  The  flag  is  blown  to  tatters  by  tl* 
winds.  He  is  dead." 

Howland  shuddered. 

"Of  the  smallpox?" 

17* 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

"Yes." 

For  a  few  moments  they  stood  in  silence.  Then 
2roisset  added,  "You  will  remain  here,  M'seur, 
.until  I  return." 

He  went  out,  closing  and  barring  the  door 
from  the  other  side,  and  Howland  seated  himself 
again  in  the  chair  beside  the  table.  Fifteen  min 
utes  later  the  half-breed  returned,  bearing  with 
him  a  good-sized  pack  and  a  two-gallon  jug. 

"There  is  wood  back  of  the  stove,  M'seur. 
Here  is  food  and  water  for  a  week,  and  furs  for 
your  bed.  Now  I  will  cut  those  thongs  about  your 
wrists." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you're  going  to  leave  me 
here  alone — in  this  wretched  prison  ?"  cried  How- 
land. 

"Mon  Dieu,  is  it  not  better  than  a  grave, 
M'seur?  I  will  be  back  at  the  end  of  a  week." 

The  door  was  partly  open  and  for  the  last  time 
there  came  to  Rowland's  ears  the  mourning  how] 
of  the  old  dog  on  the  mountain  top.    Almost 
threateningly  he  gripped  Croisset's  arm. 
179 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

"Jean — if  you  don't  come  back — what  will 
happen?" 

He  heard  the  half-breed  chuckling. 

"You  will  die,  M'seur,  pleasantly  and  taking 
your  own  time  at  it,  which  is  much  better  thar 
dying  over  a  case  of  dynamite.  But  I  will  comt 
back,  M'seur.  Good-by !" 

Again  the  door  was  closed  and  bolted  and  the 
sound  of  Croisset's  footsteps  quickly  died  away 
beyond  the  log  walls.  Many  minutes  passed  be 
fore  Rowland  thought  of  his  pipe,  or  a  fire. 
Then,  shiveringly,  he  went  to  seek  the  fuel  which 
Jean  had  told  him  was  behind  the  stove.  The  old 
bay  stove  was  soon  roaring  with  the  fire  which  he 
built,  and  as  the  soothing  fumes  of  his  pipe  im 
pregnated  the  damp  air  of  the  room  he  experi 
enced  a  sensation  of  comfort  which  was  in 
strange  contrast  to  the  exciting  happenings  of 
the  past  few  days. 

At  last  he  was  alone,  with  nothing  to  do  for  a 
week  but  eat,  sleep  and  smoke.  He  had  plenty 
of  tobacco  and  an  inspection  of  the  pack  show*"3 
180 


THE  HOUSE  OP  THE  RED  DEATH 

that  Croisset  had  left  him  well  stocked  with  food. 
Tilted  back  in  a  chair,  with  his  feet  on  the  table, 
he  absorbed  the  cheerful  heat  from  the  stove,  sent 
up  clouds  of  smoke,  and  wondered  if  the  half- 
breed  had  already  started  back  into  the  South. 
What  would  MacDonald  say  when  Jackpine  came 
in  with  the  report  that  he  had  slipped  to  his  death 
in  the  waterfall?  Probably  his  first  move  would 
be  to  send  the  most  powerful  team  on  the  We- 
kusko  in  pursuit  of  Gregson  and  Thorne.  The 
departing  engineers  would  be  compelled  to  re 
turn,  and  then — 

He  laughed  aloud  and  began  pacing  back  and 
forth  across  the  rotted  floor  of  his  prison  as  he 
pictured  the  consternation  of  the  two  seniors. 
And  then  a  flush  burned  in  his  face  and  his  eyes 
glowed  as  he  thought  of  Meleese.  In  spite  of 
himself  she  had  saved  him  from  his  enemies,  and 
he  blessed  Croisset  for  having  told  him  the  mean 
ing  of  this  flight  into  the  North.  Once  again  she 
had  betrayed  him,  but  this  time  it  was  to  save  his 
life,  and  his  heart  leaped  in  joyous  faith  at  thi* 
181 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

proof  of  her  love  for  him.  He  believed  thai,  lie 
understood  the  whole  scheme  now.  Even  his 
3nemies  would  think  him  dead.  They  would  leav* 
the  Wekusko  and  after  a  time,  when  it  was  saft 
for  him  to  return,  he  would  be  given  his  f  reedom< 

With  the  passing  of  the  hours  gloomiei 
thoughts  shadowed  these  anticipations.  In  some 
mysterious  way  Meleese  was  closely  associated 
with  those  who  sought  his  life,  and  if  they  disap 
peared  she  would  disappear  with  them.  He  was 
convinced  of  that.  And  then — could  he  find  her 
again  ?  Would  she  go  into  the  South — to  civiliza 
tion — or  deeper  into  the  untraveled  wildernesses 
of  the  North?  In  answer  to  his  question  there 
flashed  through  his  mind  the  words  of  Jean 
Croisset :  "M'seur,  I  know  of  a  hundred  men  be 
tween  Athabasca  and  the  bay  who  would  kill  you 
for  what  you  have  said."  Yes,  she  would  go  into 
the  North.  Somewhere  in  that  vast  desolation  oQ 
which  Jean  had  spoken  he  would  find  her,  even 
though  he  spent  half  of  his  life  in  the  search ! 

It  was  past  midnight  when  he  spread  out  th« 
182 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

furs  and  undressed  for  bed.  He  opened  the  stove 
door  and  from  the  bunk  watched  the  faint  flicker- 
ings  of  the  dying  firelight  on  the  log  walls.  As 
slumber  closed  his  eyes  he  was  conscious  of  a 
sound — the  faint,  hungerful,  wailing  cry  to 
which  he  had  listened  that  first  night  near  Prince 
Albert.  It  was  a  wolf,  and  drowsily  he  wondered 
how  he  could  hear  the  cry  through  the  thick  log 
walls  of  his  prison.  The  answer  came  to  him  the 
moment  he  opened  his  eyes,  hours  later.  A  bit  of 
pale  sunlight  was  falling  into  the  room  and  he 
saw  that  it  entered  through  a  narrow  aperture 
close  up  to  the  ceiling.  After  he  had  prepared 
his  breakfast  he  dragged  the  table  under  this 
aperture  and  by  standing  on  it  was  enabled  to 
peer  through.  A  hundred  yards  away  was  the 
black  edge  of  the  spruce  and  balsam  forest.  Be 
tween  him  and  the  forest,  half  smothered  in  the 
deep  snow,  was  a  cabin,  and  he  shuddered  as  he 
Saw  floating  over  it  the  little  red  signal  of  death 
of  which  Croisset  had  told  him  the  night  before. 
With  the  breaking  of  this  day  the  hours 
183 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

seemed  of  interminable  length.  For  a  time  he 
amused  himself  by  searching  every  corner  and 
:revice  of  his  prison  room,  but  he  found  nothing 
of  interest  beyond  what  he  had  already  discov 
ered.  He  examined  the  door  which  Croisset  had 
barred  on  him,  and  gave  up  all  hope  of  escape 
in  that  direction.  He  could  barely  thrust  his 
arm  through  the  aperture  that  opened  out  on 
the  plague-stricken  cabin.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  stirring  beginning  of  his  adventures  at 
Prince  Albert  a  sickening  sense  of  his  own  im- 
potency  began  to  weigh  on  Howland.  He  was  a 
prisoner — penned  up  in  a  desolate  room  in  the 
heart  of  a  wilderness.  And  he,  Jack  Howland, 
a  man  who  had  always  taken  pride  in  his  physical 
prowess,  had  allowed  one  man  to  place  him  there. 
His  blood  began  to  boil  as  he  thought  of  it.  I  DW, 
as  he  had  time  and  silence  in  which  to  look  back 
:>n  what  had  happened,  he  was  enraged  at  the 
pictures  that  flashed  one  after  another  before 
him.  He  had  allowed  himself  to  be  used  as  noth 
ing  more  than  a  pawn  in  a  strange  and  mysteri- 
184 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

ous  game.  It  was  not  through  his  efforts  alone 
that  he  had  been  saved  in  the  fight  on  the  Sas 
katchewan  trail.  Blindly  he  had  walked  into  tht 
trap  at  the  coyote.  Still  more  blindly  he  had 
allowed  himself  to  be  led  into  the  ambush  at  the 
Wekusko  camp.  And  more  like  a  child  than  a 
man  he  had  submitted  himself  to  Jean  Croisset ! 

He  stamped  back  and  forth  across  the  room, 
smoking  viciously,  and  his  face  grew  red  with 
the  thoughts  that  were  stirring  venom  within 
him.  He  placed  no  weight  on  circumstances ;  in 
these  moments  he  found  no  excuse  for  himself. 
In  no  situation  had  he  displayed  the  white 
feather,  at  no  time  had  he  felt  a  thrill  of  fear. 
His  courage  and  recklessness  had  terrified 
Meleese,  had  astonished  Croisset.  And  yet — what 
had  he  done?  From  the  beginning — from  the 
moment  he  first  placed  his  foot  in  the  Chinese 
cafe — his  enemies  had  held  the  whip-hand.  He 
had  been  compelled  to  play  a  passive  part,  Upf 
to  the  point  of  the  ambush  on  the  Wekusko  trail 
he  might  have  found  some  vindication  for  him- 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

But  this  experience  with  Jean  Croisset — it 
was  enough  to  madden  him,  now  that  he  was 
Alone,  to  think  about  it.  Why  had  he  not  taken 
advantage  of  Jean,  as  Jackpine  and  the  French 
man  had  taken  advantage  of  him  ? 

He  saw  now  what  he  might  have  done.  Some 
where,  not  very  far  back,  the  sledge  carrying 
Meleese  and  Jackpine  had  turned  into  the  un 
known.  They  two  were  alone.  Why  had  he  not 
made  Croisset  a  prisoner,  instead  of  allowing 
himself  to  be  caged  up  like  a  weakling?  He  swore 
aloud  as  there  dawned  on  him  more  and  more  a 
realization  of  the  opportunity  he  had  lost.  At 
the  point  of  a  gun  he  could  have  forced  Croisset 
to  overtake  the  other  sledge.  He  could  have  sur 
prised  Jackpine,  as  they  had  surprised  him  on 
the  trail.  And  then  ?  He  smiled,  but  there  was  no 
humor  in  the  smile.  He  at  least  would  have  held 
the  whip-hand.  And  what  would  Meleese  have 
done  ? 

He  asked  himself  question  after  question,  an 
swering  them  quickly  and  decisively  in  the  same 
186 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

breath.  Meleese  loved  him.  He  wouF  have 
staked  his  life  on  that.  His  blood  leaped  as  he 
felt  again  the  thrill  of  her  kisses  when  she  had 
come  to  him  as  he  lay  bound  and  gagged  beside 
the  trail.  She  had  taken  his  head  in  her  arms, 
and  through  the  grief  of  her  face  he  had  seen 
shining  the  light  of  a  great  love  that  had  glorified 
it  for  ail  time  for  him.  She  loved  him !  And  he 
had  let  her  slip  away  from  him,  had  weakly  sur 
rendered  himself  at  a  moment  when  everything 
that  he  had  dreamed  of  might  have  been  within 
his  grasp.  With  Jackpine  and  Croisset  in  his 
power — 

He  went  no  further.  Was  it  too  late  to  do 
these  things  now?  Croisset  would  return.  With 
a  sort  of  satisfaction  it  occurred  to  him  that  his 
actions  had  disarmed  the  Frenchman  of  sus 
picion.  He  believed  that  it  would  be  easy  to  over 
come  Croisset,  to  force  him  to  follow  in  the  trail 
of  Meleese  and  Jackpine.  And  that  trail?  It 
would  probably  lead  to  the  very  stronghold  of 
his  enemies.  But  what  of  that?  He  loaded  hi? 
187 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

pipe  again,  puffing  out  clouds  of  smoke  until  the 
room  was  thick  with  it.  That  trail  would  take 
him  to  Meleese — wherever  she  was.  Heretofore 
his  enemies  had  come  to  him ;  now  he  would  go  to 
them.  With  Croisset  in  his  power,  and  with  none 
of  his  enemies  aware  of  his  presence,  everything 
would  be  in  his  favor.  He  laughed  aloud  as  a 
sudden  thrilling  thought  flashed  into  his  mind. 
As  a  last  resort  he  would  use  Jean  as  a  decoy. 
He  foresaw  how  easy  it  would  be  to  bring  Me 
leese  to  him — to  see  Croisset.  His  own  presence 
would  be  like  the  dropping  of  a  bomb  at  her  feet. 
In  that  moment,  when  she  saw  what  he  was  risk 
ing  for  her,  that  he  was  determined  to  possess 
her,  would  she  not  surrender  to  the  pleading  of 
his  love?  If  not  he  would  do  the  other  thing — 
that  which  had  brought  the  joyous  laugh  to  his 
lips.  All  was  fair  in  war  and  love,  and  theirs  was 
a  game  of  love.  Because  of  her  love  for  him  Me- 
ieese  had  kidnapped  him  from  his  post  of  duty. 
hacJ  sent  him  a  prisoner  to  this  death-house  in 
the  wilderness.  Love  had  exculpated  her.  The* 
188 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

same  love  would  exculpate  him.  He  would  makt 
her  a  prisoner,  and  Jean  should  drive  them  back 
io  the  Wekusko.  Meleese  herself  had  set  the 
pace  and  he  would  follow  it.  And  what  womans 
if  she  loved  a  man,  would  not  surrender  after 
this?  In  their  sledge  trip  he  would  have  her  to 
himself,  for  not  only  an  hour  or  two,  but  for 
days.  Surely  in  that  time  he  could  win.  There 
would  be  pursuit,  perhaps;  he  might  have  to 
fight — but  he  was  willing,  and  a  trifle  anxious, 
to  fight. 

He  went  to  bed  that  night,  and  dreamed  of 
things  that  were  to  happen.  A  second  day,  a 
third  night,  and  a  third  day  came.  With  each 
hour  grew  his  anxiety  for  Jean's  return.  At 
times  he  was  almost  feverish  to  have  the  affair 
over  with.  He  was  confident  of  the  outcome,  and 
yet  he  did  not  fail  to  take  the  Frenchman's  true 
measurement.  He  knew  that  Jean  was  like  live 
wire  and  steel,  as  agile  as  a  cat,  more  than  a 
match  with  himself  in  open  fight  despite  his  ownf 
superior  weight  and  size.  He  devised  a  dozen  < 
189 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

schemes  for  Jean's  undoing.  One  was  tc  leap  on 
him  while  he  was  eating;  another  to  spring  on 
him  and  choke  him  into  partial  insensibility  as 
he  knelt  beside  his  pack  or  fed  the  fire;  a  third 
to  strike  a  blow  from  behind  that  would  render 
kim  powerless.  But  there  was  something  in  this 
last  that  was  repugnant  to  him.  He  remembered 
that  Jean  had  saved  his  life,  that  in  no  instance 
had  he  given  him  physical  pain.  He  would  watch 
for  an  opportunity,  take  advantage  of  the 
Frenchman,  as  Croisset  had  taken  advantage  of 
him,  but  he  would  not  hurt  him  seriously.  It 
should  be  as  fair  a  struggle  as  Jean  had  offered 
him,  and  with  the  handicap  in  his  favor  the  best 
man  would  win. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  Howland 
was  awakened  by  a  sound  that  came  through  the 
aperture  in  the  wall.  It  was  the  sharp  yelping 
bark  of  a  dog,  followed  an  instant  later  by  the 
sharper  crack  of  a  whip,  and  a  familiar  voice. 

Jean  Croisset  had  returned ! 

With  a  single  leap  he  was  out  of  hi*  bunk, 
190 


HOUSE    OF    THE    RED    DEATH 

Half  dressed  he  darted  to  the  door,  and  crouched 
there,  the  muscles  of  his  arms  tightening,  his 
body  tense  with  the  gathering  forces  within  him 
The  spur  of  the  moment  had  driven  him  to 
quick  decision.  His  opportunity  would  come 
when  Jean  Cruisset  Tossed  through  that  door ! 


191 


CHAPTER 


THE    FIGHT 

BEYOND  the  door  Rowland  heard  Jean 
pause.  There  followed  a  few  moments  si 
lence,  as  though  the  other  were  listening  for 
sound  within.  Then  there  came  a  fumbling  at  the 
bar  and  the  door  swung  inward. 

"Bon  jour,  M'seur,"  called  Jean's  cheerful 
voice  as  he  stepped  inside.  "Is  it  possible  you 
are  not  up,  with  all  this  dog-barking  and  —  " 

His  eyes  had  gone  to  the  empty  bunk.  Despite 
his  cheerful  greeting  Rowland  saw  that  the 
Frenchman's  face  was  haggard  and  pale  as  he 
turned  quickly  toward  him.  He  observed  no  fur 
ther  than  that,  but  flung  his  whole  weight  on  the 
unprepared  Croisset,  and  together  they  crashed 
to  the  floor.  There  was  scarce  a  struggle  and 
Jean  lay  still.  He  was  flat  on  his  back,  his  arms 
pinioned  to  his  sides,  and  bringing  himself 
192 


THE    FIGHT 

astride  the  Frenchman's  body  so  that  each  knee 
imprisoned  an  arm  Howland  coolly  began  loop 
ing  the  babeesh  thongs  that  he  had  snatched 
from  the  table  as  he  sprang  to  the  door.  Behind 
Howland's  back  Jean's  legs  shot  suddenly  up 
ward.  In  a  quick  choking  clutch  of  steel-like 
muscle  they  gripped  about  his  neck  like  power 
ful  arms  and  in  another  instant  he  was  twisted 
backward  with  a  force  that  sent  him  half  neck- 
broken  to  the  opposite  wall.  He  staggered  to  his 
feet,  dazed  for  a  moment,  and  Jean  Croisset  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  his  caribou  skin  coat 
thrown  off,  his  hands  clenched,  his  eyes  darken 
ing  w'th  a  dangerous  fire.  As  quickly  as  it  had 
eome,  the  fire  died  away,  and  as  he  advanced 
slowly,  his  shoulders  hunched  over,  his  white 
teeth  gleamed  in  a  smile.  Howland  smiled  back, 
md  advanced  to  meet  him.  There  was  no  humor, 
AO  friendliness  in  the  smiles.  Both  had  seen  that 
flash  of  teeth  and  deadly  scintillation  of  eyes  at 
other  times,  both  knew  what  it  meant. 

"I  believe  that  I  will  kill  you,  M'seur,"  said 
193 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

Jean  softly.  There  was  no  excitement,  no  trem 
ble  of  passion  in  his  voice.  "I  have  been  think 
ing  that  I  ought  to  kill  you.  I  had  almost  made 
up  my  mind  to  kill  you  when  I  came  back  to  this 
Maison  de  Mort  Rouge.  It  is  the  justice  of  Gor 
that  I  kill  you !" 

The  two  men  circled,  like  beasts  in  a  pit,  How- 
land  in  the  attitude  of  a  boxer,  Jean  with  his 
shoulders  bent,  his  arms  slightly  curved  at  his 
side,  the  toes  of  his  moccasined  feet  bearing  his 
weight.  Suddenly  he  launched  himself  at  the  oth 
er's  throat. 

In  a  flash  Howland  stepped  a  little  to  one  side 
and  shot  out  a  crashing  blow  that  caught  Jean 
on  the  side  of  the  head  and  sent  him  flat  on  his 
back.  Half-stunned  Croisset  came  to  his  feet. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  come  into 
contact  with  science.  He  was  puzzled.  His  head 
rang,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  was  dizzy.  Ht 
darted  in  again,  in  his  old,  quick,  cat-like  way, 
and  received  a  blow  that  dazed  him.  This  time 
he  kept  his  feet. 

194 


THE    FIGHT 

"i  am  sure  now  that  I  am  going  to  kill  you, 
TM'seur,"  he  said,  as  coolly  as  before. 

There  was  something  terribly  calm  and  deci- 
jive  in  his  voice.  He  was  not  excited.  He  was 
Hot  afraid.  His  fingers  did  not  go  near  the 
weapons  in  his  belt,  and  slowly  the  smile  faded 
from  Howland's  lips  as  Jean  circled  about  him. 
He  had  never  fought  a  man  of  this  kind ;  never 
had  he  looked  on  the  appalling  confidence  that 
was  in  his  antagonist's  eyes.  From  those  eyes, 
rather  than  from  the  man,  he  found  himself  slow 
ly  retreating.  They  followed  him,  never  taking 
themselves  from  his  face.  In  them  the  fire  re 
turned  and  grew  deeper.  Two  dull  red  spots  be 
gan  to  glow  in  Croisset's  cheeks,  and  he  laughed 
softly  when  he  suddenly  leaped  in  so  that  How- 
land  struck  at  him — and  missed.  He  knew  what 
to  expect  now.  And  Rowland  knew  what  to  ex 
pect. 

It  was  the  science  of  one  world  pitted  against 
that  of  another — the  science  of  civilization 
against  that  of  the  wilderness.  Howland  was 
195 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

trained  in  his  art.  For  sport  Jean  had  pkyed 
with  wounded  lynx;  his  was  the  quickness  of 
sight,  of  instinct — the  quickness  of  the  great 
north  loon  that  had  often  played  this  same  game 
with  his  rifle-fire,  of  the  sledge-dog  whose  rip 
ping  fangs  carried  death  so  quickly  that  eyes 
could  not  follow.  A  thira  and  a  fourth  time  he 
came  within  distance  and  Rowland  struck  and 
missed. 

"I  am  going  to  kill  you,"  he  said  again. 

To  this  point  Howland  had  remained  cool. 
Self-possession  in  his  science  he  knew  to  be  half 
the  battle.  But  he  felt  in  him  now  a  slow,  swell 
ing  anger.  The  smiling  flash  in  Jean's  eyes 
began  to  irritate  him;  the  fearless,  taunting 
gleam  of  his  teeth,  his  audacious  confidence,  put 
him  on  edge.  Twice  again  he  struck  out  swiftly, 
but  Jean  had  come  and  gone  like  a  dart.  His 
lithe  body,  fifty  pounds  lighter  than  Howland'sj 
seemed  to  be  that  of  a  boy  dodging  him  in  some 
tantalizing  sport.  The  Frenchman  made  no  ef 
fort  at  attack ;  his  were  the  tactics  of  the  wolf 
196 


THE    FIGHT 

at  the  heels  of  the  bull  moose,  of  the  lynx  before 
the  prongs  of  a  cornered  buck — tiring,  worrying, 
ceaseless. 

Rowland's  striking  muscles  began  tc  ache  and 
his  breath  was  growing  shorter  with  the  exertions 
which  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  Croisset.  For 
a  few  moments  he  took  the  aggressive,  rushing 
Jean  to  the  stove,  behind  the  table,  twice  around 
the  room — striving  vainly  to  drive  him  into  a 
corner,  to  reach  him  with  one  of  the  sweeping 
blows  which  Croisset  evaded  with  the  lightning 
quickness  of  a  hell-diver.  When  he  stopped,  his 
breath  came  in  wind-broken  gasps.  Jean  drew 
nearer,  smiling,  ferociously  cool. 

"I  am  going  to  kill  you,  M'seur,"  he  repeated 
again. 

Rowland  dropped  his  arms,  his  fingers  relaxed, 
and  he  forced  his  breath  between  his  lips  as  if 
he  were  on  the  point  of  exhaustion.  There  were 
Btill  a  few  tricks  in  his  science,  and  these,  he 
knew,  were  about  his  last  cards.  He  backed  into 
a  corner,  and  Jean  followed,  his  eyes  flashing  a 
197 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

steely  light,  his  body  growing  more  and  more 
tense. 

"Now,  M'seur,  I  am  going  to  kill  you,"  he  said 
in  the  same  low  voice.  "I  am  going  to  break  your 
neck." 

Rowland  backed  against  the  wall,  partly 
turned  as  if  fearing  the  other's  attack,  and  yet 
without  strength  to  repel  it.  There  was  a  con 
temptuous  smile  on  Croisset's  lips  as  he  poised 
himself  for  an  instant.  Then  he  leaped  in,  and 
as  his  fingers  gripped  at  the  other's  throat  How- 
land's  right  arm  shot  upward  in  a  deadly  short- 
arm  punch  that  caught  his  antagonist  under  the 
jaw.  Without  a  sound  Jean  staggered  back,  tot 
tered  for  a  moment  on  his  feet,  and  fell  to  the 
floor.  Fifty  seconds  later  he  opened  his  eyes  to 
find  his  hands  bound  behind  his  back  and  How- 
land  standing  at  his  feet. 

"Mon  Dieu,  but  that  was  a  good  one!"  he 
gasped,  after  he  had  taken  a  long  breath  or  two, 
"Will  you  teach  it  to  me,  M'seur?" 

"Get  up!"  commanded  Howland.  "I  have  no 
198 


THE    FIGHT 

time  to  waste,  Croisset."  He  caught  the  French^ 
man  by  the  shoulders  and  helped  him  to  a  chair 
lear  the  table.  Then  he  took  possession  of  the 
3ther's  weapons,  including  the  revolver  which 
Jean  had  taken  from  him,  and  began  to  dress.  He 
spoke  no  word  until  he  was  done. 

"Do  you  understand  what  is  going  to  happen, 
Croisset?"  he  cried  then,  his  eyes  blazing  hotly. 
"Do  you  understand  that  what  you  have  done  will 
put  you  behind  prison  bars  for  ten  years  or 
more?  Does  it  dawn  on  you  that  I'm  going  to 
take  you  back  to  the  authorities,  and  that  as  soon 
as  we  reach  the  Wekusko  I'll  have  twenty  men 
back  on  the  trail  of  these  friends  of  yours  ?" 

A  gray  pallor  spread  itself  over  Jean's  thin 
face. 

"The  great  God,  M'seur,  you  can  not  do 
chat !" 

"Can  not!"     Rowland's  fingers  dug  into  the 

edge  of  the  table.   "By  this  great  God  of  yours, 

Croissot,  but  I  will !  And  why  not?  Is  it  because 

Meleese  is  among  this  gang  of  cut-throats  and 

199 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

murderers?  Pish,  my  dear  Jean,  you  must  be  a 
fool.  They  tried  to  kill  me  on  the  trail,  tried  it 
again  in  the  coyote,  and  you  came  back  here  de 
termined  to  kill  me.  You've  held  the  whip-hand 
from  the  first.  Now  it's  mine.  I  swear  that  if 
J  take  you  back  to  the  Wekusko  we'll  get  you 
dl" 

'7;,  M'seur?" 


"And  th«*t  'if  —  "  Jean  was  straining  against 
the  table. 

"It  rests  vilh  you,  Croisset.  I  will  bargain 
with  you.  Eitkfc/  I  shall  take  you  back  to  the 
Wekusko,  hand  3'ou  over  to  the  authorities  and 
send  a  force  aftev  the  others  —  or  you  shall  take 
me  to  Meleese.  Which  shall  it  be  ?" 

"And  if  I  take  you  to  Meleese,  M'seur?" 

Rowland  straightened,  his  voice  trembling  A 
little  with  excitement. 

"If  you  take  me  to  Melesse,  and  swear  to  do  as 
I  say,  I  shall  bring  no  lutrm  to  you  or  your 
friends." 

200 


THE   FIGHT 

"And  Meleese — "  Jean's  eyes  darkened  again, 
"You  will  not  harm  her,  M'seur  ?" 

"Harm  her!"  There  was  a  laughing  tremol 
in  Rowland's  voice.  "Good  God,  man,  are  you 
so  blind  that  you  can't  see  that  I  am  doing  this 
because  of  her?  I  tell  you  that  I  love  her,  and 
that  I  am  willing  to  die  in  fighting  for  her.  Until 
now  I  haven't  had  the  chance.  You  and  your 
friends  have  played  a  cowardly  underhand  game, 
Croisset.  You  have  taken  me  from  behind  at 
every  move,  and  now  it's  up  to  you  to  square 
yourself  a  little  or  there's  going  to  be  hell  to 
pay.  Understand?  You  take  me  to  Meleese  or 
there'll  be  a  clean-up  that  will  put  you  and  the 
whole  bunch  out  of  business.  Harm  her — "  Again 
Rowland  laughed,  leaning  his  white  face  toward 
Jean.  "Come,  which  shall  it  be,  Croisset?" 

A  cold  glitter,  like  the  snap  of  sparks  froiB 
striking  steels,  shot  from  the  Frenchman's  eyes* 
The  grayish  pallor  went  from  his  face.  His  teeth 
gleamed  in  the  enigmatic  smile  that  had  ha  if 
undone  Rowland  in  the  fight. 
201 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

"You  are  mistaken  in  some  things,  M'seur,"  He 
said  quietly.  "Until  to-day  I  have  fought  for 
pou  and  not  against  you.  But  now  you  have  left 
Jie  but  one  choice.  I  will  take  you  to  Meleese}  and 
that  means — " 

"Good !"  cried  Rowland. 

"La,  la,  M'seur — not  so  good  as  you  think.  It 
means  that  as  surely  as  the  dogs  carry  us  there 
you  will  never  come  back.  M on  Dieu,  your  death 
is  certain !" 

Howland  turned  briskly  to  the  stove. 

"Hungry,  Jean?"  he  asked  more  companion- 
ably.  "Let's  not  quarrel,  man.  You've  had  your 
fun,  and  now  I'm  going  to  have  mine.  Have  you 
had  breakfast?" 

"I  was  anticipating  that  pleasure  with  you, 
M'seur,"  replied  Jean  with  grim  humor. 

"And  then — after  I  had  fed  you — you  were 
going  to  kill  me,  my  dear  Jean,"  laughed  How- 
land,  flopping  a  huge  caribou  steak  on  the  naked 
top  of  the  sheet-iron  stove.  "Real  nice  fellow 
you  are,  eh?" 

202 


THE    FIGHT 

"You  ought  to  be  killed,  M'seur." 

"So  you've  said  before.  When  I  see  Melees* 
I'm  going  to  know  the  reason  why,  or — " 

"Or  what,  M'seur?" 

"Kill  you,  Jean.  I've  just  about  made  up  my 
mind  that  you  ought  to  be  killed,  if  any  one 
dies  up  where  we're  going,  Croisset,  it  will  be  you 
first  of  all." 

Jean  remained  siient.  A  few  minutes  later 
Howland  brought  the  caribou  steak,  a  dish  of 
flour  cakes  and  a  big  pot  of  coffee  to  the  table. 
Then  he  went  behind  Jean  and  untied  his  hands. 
When  he  sat  down  at  his  own  side  of  the  table 
he  cocked  his  revolver  and  placed  it  beside  his* 
tin  plate.  Jean  grimaced  and  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders. 

"It  means  business,"  said  his  captor  warning- 
ly.  "If  at  any  time  I  think  you  deserve  it  I  shall 
shoot  you  in  your  tracks,  Croisset,  so  don*f 
arouse  my  suspicions." 

"I  took  your  word  of  honor,"  said  Jean  sal 
castically. 

203 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

**And  I  will  take  yours  to  an  extent,"  replied 
Rowland,  pouring  the  coffee.  Suddenly  he  picked 
ip  the  revolver.  "You  never  saw  me  shoot,  did 
you?  See  that  cup  over  there ?"  He  pointed  to  a 
small  tin  pack-cup  hanging  to  a  nail  on  the  wall 
a  dozen  paces  from  them.  Three  times  without 
missing  he  drove  bullets  through  it,  and  smiled 
across  at  Croisset. 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  the  use  of  your  arms 
and  legs,  except  at  night,"  he  said. 

"Mon  Dieu,  it  is  safe,"  grunted  Jean.  "I  give 
you  my  word  that  I  will  be  good,  M'seur." 

The  sun  was  up  when  Croisset  led  the  way  out 
side.  His  dogs  and  sledge  were  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  building,  and  Rowland's  first  move  was 
to  take  possession  of  the  Frenchman's  rifle  and 
eject  the  cartridges  while  Jean  tossed  chunks  of 
caribou  flesh  to  the  huskies.  When  they  were 
ready  to  start  Jean  turned  slowly  and  half 
reached  out  a  mittened  hand  to  the  engineer. 

"M'seur,"  he  said  softly,  "I  can  not  help  lik 
ing  you,  though  I  know  that  I  should  have  killed 
204 


THE    FIGHT 

you  Jong  ago.  I  tell  you  again  that  if  you  go 
into  the  North  there  is  only  one  chance  in  a  hun« 
dred  that  you  will  come  back  alive.  Great  God, 
M'seur,  up  where  you  wish  to  go  the  very  trees 
will  fall  on  you  and  the  carrion  ravens  pick 
out  your  eyes !  And  that  chance — that  one  chance 
in  a  hundred,  M'seur — " 

"I  will  take,"  interrupted  Howland  decisively. 

"I  was  going  to  say,  M'seur,"  finished  Jean 
quietly,  "that  unless  accident  has  befallen  those 
who  left  Wekusko  yesterday  that  one  chance  is 
gone.  If  you  go  South  you  are  safe.  If  you  go 
into  the  North  you  are  no  better  than  a  dead 
man." 

"There  will  at  least  be  a  little  fun  at  the  fin 
ish,"  laughed  the  young  engineer.  "Come,  Jean, 
hit  up  the  dogs !" 

"Mon  Dieu,  I  say  you  are  a  fool — and  a  brave 
man,"  said  Croisset,  and  his  whip  twisted  sinu 
ously  in  mid-air  and  cracked  in  sharp  command 
over  the  yellow  backs  of  the  huskies. 


205 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  PURSUIT 

BEHIND  the  sledge  ran  Rowland,  to  the 
right  of  the  team  ran  Jean.  Once  or  twice 
when  Croisset  glanced  back  his  eyes  met  those  of 
the  engineer.  He  cracked  his  whip  and  smiled, 
and  Howland's  teeth  gleamed  back  coldly  in  re 
ply.  A  mutual  understanding  flashed  between 
them  in  these  glances.  In  a  sudden  spurt  How- 
land  knew  that  the  Frenchman  could  quickly  put 
distance  between  them — but  not  a  distance  that 
his  bullets  could  not  cover  in  the  space  of  a 
breath.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  fire,  delib 
erately  and  with  his  greatest  skill,  if  Croisset 
made  the  slightest  movement  toward  escape.  If 
he  was  compelled  to  kill  or  wound  his  companion 
he  could  still  go  on  alone  with  the  dogs,  for  the 
trail  «f  Meleese  and  Jackpine  would  be  as  plain 
206 


THE    PURSUIT 

as  their  own,  which  they  were  following  back  into 
the  South. 

For  the  second  time  since  coming  into  th« 
North  he  felt  the  blood  leaping  through  his  veins 
*s  on  that  first  night  in  Prince  Albert  when  from 
the  mountain  he  had  heard  the  lone  wolf,  and 
when  later  he  had  seen  the  beautiful  face  through 
the  hotel  window.  Rowland  was  one  of  the  few 
men  who  possess  unbounded  confidence  in  them 
selves,  who  place  a  certain  pride  in  their  physical 
as  well  as  their  mental  capabilities,  and  he  was 
confident  now.  His  successful  and  indomitable 
fight  over  obstacles  in  a  big  city  had  made  this 
confidence  a  genuine  part  of  his  being.  It  was  a 
confidence  that  flushed  his  face  with  joyous  en 
thusiasm  as  he  ran  after  the  dogs,  and  that 
astonished  and  puzzled  Jean  Croisset. 

"Mon  Dieiiy  but  you  are  a  strange  man  P*  ex* 
claimed  the  Frenchman  when  he  brought  th< 
dogs  down  to  a  walk  after  a  half  mile  run, 
"Blessed  saints,  M'seur,  you  are  laughing — an<* 
I  swear  it  is  no  laughing  matter." 
207 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

*Shouldn't  a  man  be  happy  when  he  is  going 
to  hif  wedding,  Jean?"  puffed  Howland,  gasp 
ing  to  get  back  the  breath  he  had  lost. 

"But  not  when  he's  going  to  his  funeral, 
M'seur." 

"If  I  were  one  of  your  blessed  saints  I'd  hit 
you  over  the  head  with  a  thunderbolt,  Croisset. 
Good  Lord,  what  sort  of  a  heart  have  you  got 
inside  of  your  jacket,  man?  Up  there  where 
we're  going  is  the  sweetest  little  girl  in  the  whole 
world.  I  love  her.  She  loves  me.  Why  shouldn't 
I  be  happy,  now  that  I  know  I'm  going  to  see 
her  again  very  soon — and  take  her  back  into  the 
South  with  me?" 

"The  devil!"  grunted  Jean. 

"Perhaps  you're  jealous,  Croisset,"  suggested 
Howland.  "Great  Scott,  I  hadn't  thought  of 
thatr 

"I've  got  one  of  my  own  to  love,  M'seur ;  and 
I  wouldn't  trade  her  for  all  else  in  the  world." 

"Damned  if  I  can  understand  you,"  swore  the 
engineer.  "You  appear  to  be  half  human ;  you 
208 


THE    PURSUIT 

say  you're  in  love,  and  yet  you'd  rather  risk 
your  life  than  help  out  Meleese  and  me.  What 
the  deuce  does  it  mean  ?" 

"That's  what  I'm  doing,  M'seur — helping  Me 
leese.  I  would  have  done  her  a  greater  service  if 
I  had  killed  you  back  there  on  the  trail  and 
stripped  your  body  for  those  things  that  would 
be  foul  enough  to  eat  it.  I  have  told  you  a  dozen 
times  that  it  is  God's  justice  that  you  die,  And 
you  are  going  to  die — very  soon,  M'peur." 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to  die,  Jean.  I'm  going  to 
see  Meleese,  and  she's  going  back  into  the  South 
with  me.  And  if  you're  real  good  you  may  have 
the  pleasure  of  driving  us  back  to  the  Wekusko, 
Croisset,  and  you  can  be  my  best  man  at  the  wed 
ding.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"That  you  are  mad — or  a  fool,"  retorted 
Jean,  cracking  his  whip  viciously. 

The  dogs  swung  sharply  from  tht  trail,  head 
ing  from  their  southerly  course  into  the  north 
west. 

"We  will  save  a  day  by  doing  this,"  explained 
209 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

Croisset  at  the  other's  sharp  word  of  inquiry. 
"We  will  hit  tht<  other  trail  twenty  miles  west  of 
here,  while  by  following  back  to  where  they 
turned  we  would  travel  sixty  miles  to  reach  thl 
same  point.  That  one  chance  in  a  hundred  whicl 
you  have  depends  on  this,  M'seur.  T*  the  othei 
sledge  has  passed — " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  started  the 
dogs  into  a  trot. 

"Look  here,"  cried  Howland,  running  beside 
him.   "Who  is  with  this  other  sledge?" 

"Those  who  tried  to  kill  you  on  the  trail  and 
at  the  coyote,  M'seur  "  he  answered  quickly. 

Howland  fell  half  a  dozen  paces  behind.  By 
the  end  of  the  first  hour  he  was  compelled  to  rest 
frequently  by  taking  to  the  sledge,  and  their 
progress  was  much  slower.  Jean  no  longer  made 
answer  to  his  occasional  questions.  Doggedly  he 
swung  on  ahead  to  the  right  and  a  little  behinc 
the  team  leader,  and  Howland  could  see  that  fot 
some  reason  Croisset  was  as  anxious  as  himself 
to  make  the  best  time  possible.  His  own  impr 
210 


THE    PURSUIT 

tience  increased  as  the  morning  lengthened. 
Jean's  assurance  that  the  mysterious  enemies 
who  had  twice  attempted  his  life  were  only  a 
short  distance  behind  them,  or  a  short  distance 
ahead,  set  a  new  and  desperate  idea  at  work  in 
his  brain.  He  was  confident  that  these  men  from 
the  Wekusko  were  his  chief  menace,  and  that 
with  them  once  out  of  the  way,  and  with  the 
Frenchman  in  his  power,  the  fight  which  he  was 
carrying  into  the  enemy's  country  would  be  half 
won.  There  would  then  be  no  one  to  recognize 
him  but  Meleese. 

His  heart  leaped  with  joyous  hope,  and  he 
leaned  forward  on  the  sledge  to  examine  Crois- 
set's  empty  gun.  It  was  an  automatic,  and  Crois- 
set,  glancing  back  over  the  loping  backs  of  the 
huskies,  caught  him  smiling.  He  ran  more  fre 
quently  now,  and  longer  distances,  and  with  the 
passing  of  each  mile  his  determination  to  strike 
a  decisive  blow  increased.  If  they  reached  the 
trail  of  Meleese  and  Jackpine  before  the  crossing 
of  the  second  sledge  he  would  lay  in  wait  for  his 
211 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

old  enemies ;  if  they  had  preceded  them  he  wotild 
pursue  and  surprise  them  in  camp.  In  eithev  case 
he  would  possess  an  overwhelming  advantage. 

With  the  same  calculating  attention  to  detai1 
that  he  would  have  shown  in  the  arrangement  of 
plans  for  the  building  of  a  tunnel  or  a  bridge,  he 
drew  a  mental  map  of  his  scheme  and  its  possibili 
ties.  There  would  be  at  least  two  men  with  the 
sledge,  and  possibly  three.  If  they  surrendered 
at  the  point  of  his  rifle  without  a  fight  he  would 
compel  Jean  to  tie  them  up  with  dog-traces  while 
he  held  them  under  cover.  If  they  made  a  move  to 
offer  resistance  he  would  shoot.  With  the  auto 
matic  he  could  kill  or  wound  the  three  before  they 
could  reach  their  rifles,  which  would  undoubtedly 
be  on  the  sledge.  The  situation  had  now  reached 
a  point  where  he  no  longer  took  into  considera 
tion  what  these  men  might  be  to  Meleese. 

As  they  continued  into  the  northwest  Howlanc 
noted  that  the  thicker  forest  was  gradually  clear 
ing  into  wide  areas  of  small  banskian  pine,  and 
that  the  rock  ridges  and  dense  swamps  which  had 
212 


THE    PURSUIT 

impeded  their  progress  were  becoming  less  ira- 
merous.  An  hour  before  noon,  after  a  tedious 
jlimb  to  the  top  of  a  frozen  ridge,  Croisset  point 
ed  down  into  a  vast  level  plain  lying  between 
them  and  other  great  ridges  far  to  the  north. 

"That  is  a  bit  of  the  Barren  Lands  that  creeps 
down  between  those  mountains  off  there, 
M'seur,"  he  said.  "Do  you  see  that  black  forest 
that  looks  like  a  charred  log  in  the  snow  to  the 
south  and  west  of  the  mountains?  That  is  the 
break  that  leads  into  the  country  of  the  Atha 
basca.  Somewhere  between  this  point  and  that 
we  will  strike  the  trail.  Mon  Dieu,  I  had  half 
expected  to  see  them  out  there  on  the  plain." 

"Who  ?  Meleese  and  Jackpine,  or — " 

"No,  the  others,  M'seur.  Shall  we  have  dinner 
here?" 

"Not  until  we  hit  the  trail,"  replied  Howland. 
^'m  anxious  to  know  about  that  one  chance  in 
a  hundred  you've  given  me  hope  of,  Croisset.  If 
they  have  passed — " 

"If  they  are  ahead  of  us  you  might  just  a* 
213 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

well  stand  out  there  and  let  me  put  a  bulle. 
through  you,  M'seur." 

He  went  to  the  head  of  the  dogs,  guiding  then 
down  the  rough  side  of  the  ridge,  while  Howlanc 
steadied  the  toboggan  from  behind.  For  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  they  traversed  the  low  bush 
of  the  plain*  in  silence.  From  every  rising  snow 
hummock  Jean  scanned  the  white  desolation 
about  them,  and  each  time,  as  nothing  that  was 
human  came  within  his  vision,  he  turned  toward 
the  engineer  with  a  sinister  shrug  of  his  shoul 
ders.  Once  three  moving  caribou,  a  mile  or  more 
away,  brought  a  quick  cry  to  his  lips  and 
Rowland  noticed  that  a  sudden  flush  of  excite 
ment  came  into  his  face,  replaced  in  the  next  in 
stant  by  a  look  of  disappointment.  After  this 
he  maintained  a  more  careful  guard  over  the 
Frenchman.  They  had  covered  less  than  half  of 
the  distance  to  the  caribou  trail  when  in  a  small 
open  space  free  of  bush  Croisset's  voice  rose 
sharply  and  the  team  stopped. 

"What  dc  you  think  of  it,  M'seur?"  he  cried, 


THE    PURSUIT 

pointing  to  the  snow.  "What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

Barely  cutting  into  the  edge  of  the  open  war 
the  broken  crust  of  two  sledge  trails.  For  a  mo 
ment  Rowland  forgot  his  caution  and  bent  over 
to  examine  the  trails,  with  his  back  to  his  com 
panion.  When  he  looked  up  there  was  a  curious 
laughing  gleam  in  Jean's  eyes. 

"Mon  Dieu,  but  you  are  careless!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Be  more  careful,  M'seur.  I  may  give 
myself  up  to  another  temptation  like  that." 

"The  deuce  you  say !"  cried  Howland,  spring 
ing  back  quickly.  "I'm  much  obliged,  Jean.  If 
it  wasn't  for  the  moral  effect  of  the  thing  I'd 
shake  hands  with  you  on  that.  How  far  ahead 
of  us  do  you  suppose  they  are  ?" 

Croisset  had  fallen  on  his  knees  in  the  trail. 

"The  crust  is  freshly  broken,"  he  said  after  a 
moment.  "They  have  been  gone  not  less  than 
two  or  three  hours,  perhaps  since  morning.  See 
this  white  glistening  surface  over  the  first  trailj 
M'seui\  like  a  billion  needle-points  growing  ou^ 
215 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

it?   That  is  the  work  of  three  or  four  days" 
.  The  first  sledge  passed  that  long  ago." 

Rowland  turned  and  picked  up  Croisset's  rifle 
The  Frenchman  watched  him  as  h^  slipped  a  clip 
hill  of  cartridges  into  the  breech. 

"If  there's  a  snack  of  cold  stuff  in  the  pack 
flig  it  out,"  he  commanded.  "We'll  eat  on  the 
run,  if  you've  got  anything  to  eat.  If  you 
haven't,  we'll  go  hungry.  We're  going  to  over 
take  that  sledge  sometime  this  afternoon  or  to 
night — or  bust !" 

"The  saints  be  biassed,  then  we  are  most  cer 
tain  to  bust,  M'seuv,"  gasped  Jean.  "And  if  we 
don't  the  dogs  w>ll.  Non,  it  is  impossible !" 

"Is  there  anything  to  eat  ?" 

"A  morse)  of  cold  meat — that  is  all.  But  I  say 
that  it  is  impossible.  That  sledge — " 

Howland  interrupted  him  with  an  in  patient 
gesture. 

''And  I  say  that  if  there  is  anything  to  eat  in 

there,  get  it  out,  and  be  quick  about  it,  Croisset. 

WVre  going  to  overtake  those  preciouc 

216 


THE   PURSUIT 

of  yours,  and  I  warn  you  that  if  you  make  any 
attempt  to  lose  time  something  unpleasant  is  go 
ing  to  happen.  Understand?" 

Jean  had  bent  to  unstrap  one  end  of  the  sledge 
pack  and  an  angry  flash  leaped  into  his  eyes  at 
the  threatening  tone  of  the  engineer's  voice.  For 
a  moment  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  speech,  but 
caught  himself  and  in  silence  divided  the  small 
chunk  of  meat  which  he  drew  from  the  pack,  giv 
ing  the  larger  share  to  Rowland  as  he  went  to  the 
head  of  the  dogs.  Only  once  or  twice  during  the 
next  hour  did  he  look  back,  and  after  each  of 
these  glances  he  redoubled  his  efforts  at  urging 
on  the  huskies.  Before  they  had  come  to  the  edge 
of  the  black  banskian  forest  which  Jean  had 
pointed  out  from  the  farther  side  of  the  plain, 
Howland  saw  that  the  pace  was  telling  on  the 
team.  The  leader  was  trailing  lame,  and  now 
and  then  the  whole  pack  would  settle  back  in 
their  traces,  to  be  urged  on  again  by  the  fierce 
cracking  of  Croisset's  long  whip.  To  add  to  his 
own  discomfiture  Howland  found  that  he  could  no 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

longer  keep  up  with  Jean  and  the  dogs,  and  *xh 
his  weight  added  to  the  sledge  the  huskie*  set 
tled  down  into  a  tugging  walk. 

Thus  they  came  into  the  deep  low  forest,  and 
Jean,  apparently  oblivious  of  the  exhaustion  of 
both  man  and  dogs,  walked  now  in  advance  of 
the  team,  his  eyes  constantly  on  the  thin  trail 
ahead.  Rowland  could  not  fail  to  see  that  his 
unnecessary  threat  of  a  few  hours  before  still 
rankled  in  the  Frenchman's  mind,  and  several 
times  he  made  an  effort  to  break  the  other's  taci 
turnity.  But  Jean  strode  on  in  moody  silence, 
answering  only  those  things  which  were  put  to 
him  directly,  and  speaking  not  an  unnecessary 
word.  At  last  the  engineer  jumped  from  the 
sledge  and  overtook  his  companion. 

"Hold  on,  Jean,"  he  cried.  "I've  got  enough. 
You're  right,  and  I  want  to  apologize.  We're 
busted — that  is,  the  dogs  and  I  are  busted,  and 
we  might  as  well  give  it  up  until  we've  had  a  feed. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"I  say  that  you  have  stopped  just  in  time, 
218 


THE    PURSUIT 

M'seur,"  replied  Croisset  with  purring  softness. 
"Another  half  hour  and  we  would  have  been 
vhrough  the  forest,  and  just  beyond  that — in  the 
adge  of  the  plain — are  those  whom  you  seek,  Me- 
ieese  and  her  people.  That  is  what  I  started  to 
tell  you  back  there  when  you  shut  me  up.  Mon 
Dieu,  if  it  were  not  for  Meleese  I  would  let  you 
go  on.  And  then — what  would  happen  then, 
M'seur,  if  you  made  your  visit  to  them  in  broad 
day?  Listen!" 

Jean  lifted  a  warning  hand.  Faintly  there 
came  to  them  through  the  forest  the  distant  bay 
ing  of  a  hound. 

"That  is  one  of  our  dogs  from  the  Mackenzie 
country,"  he  went  on  softly,  an  insinuating  tri 
umph  in  his  low  voice.  "Now,  M'seur,  that  I 
have  brought  you  here  what  are  you  going  to 
do?  Shall  we  go  on  and  take  dinner  with  those 
who  are  going  to  kill  you,  or  will  you  wait  a  few 
hours?  Eh,  which  shall  it  be?" 

For  a  moment  Rowland  stood  motionless^ 
stunned  by  the  Frenchman's  words.  Quickly  he 
£19 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

recovered  himself.  His  eyes  burned  with  a  metal 
lic  gleam  as  they  met  the  half  taunt  in  Croisset's 
cool  smile. 

"If  I  had  not  stopped  you — we  would  have 
gone  on  ?"  he  questioned  tensely. 

"To  be  sure,  M'seur,"  retorted  Croisset,  still 
smiling.  "You  warned  me  to  lose  no  time — that 
something  would  happen  if  I  did." 

With  a  quick  movement  Howland  drew  his  re 
volver  and  leveled  it  at  the  Frenchman's  heart. 

"If  you  ever  prayed  to  those  blessed  saints  of 
yours,  dc  it  now,  Jean  Croisset,  I'm  going  to  kill 
you !"  he  cried  fiercely. 


2*0 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE  GLEAM  OF  THE  IJGHT 

IN  a  single  breath  the  face  of  Jean  Croisse* 
became  no  more  than  a  mask  of  what  it  had 
been.  The  taunting  smile  left  his  lips  and  a  gray 
pallor  spread  over  his  face  as  he  saw  Rowland's 
finger  crooked  firmly  on  the  trigger  of  his  re 
volver.  In  another  instant  there  came  the  sound 
of  a  metallic  snap. 

"Damnation !  An  empty  cartridge !"  Rowland 
exclaimed.  "I  forgot  to  load  after  those  three 
shots  at  the  cup.  It's  coming  this  time,  Jean !" 

Purposely  he  snapped  the  second  empty  cart* 
Bridge. 

"The  great  God!"  gasped  Jean.   "M'seur— * 

From  deep  in  the  forest  came  again  the  baying 
of  the  Mackenzie  hound.  This  time  it  was  much 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

nearer^  and  for  a  moment  Rowland's  eyes  left 
the  Frenchman's  terrified  face  as  he  turned  his 
lead  to  listen. 

"They  are  coming!"  exclaimed  Croisset. 
**M'seur,  I  swear  to  — " 

Again  Rowland's  pistol  covered  his  heart. 

"Then  it  is  even  more  necessary  that  I  kill 
you,"  he  said  with  frightful  calmness.  "I  warned 
you  that  I  would  kill  you  if  you  led  me  into  a 
trap,  Croisset.  The  dogs  are  bushed.  There  is 
no  way  out  of  this  but  to  fight — if  there  are 
people  coming  down  the  trail.  Listen  to  that !" 

This  time,  from  still  nearer,  came  the  shout  of 
a  man,  and  then  of  another,  followed  by  the 
huskies'  sharp  yelping  as  they  started  afresh  on 
the  trail.  The  flush  of  excitement  that  had  come 
into  Howland's  face  paled  until  he  stood  as  white 
as  the  Frenchman.  But  it  was  not  the  whiteness 
Of  fear.  His  eyes  were  like  blue  steel  flashing  in 
the  sunlight. 

"There  is  nothing  to  do  but  fight,"  he  repeat 
ed,  even  more  calmly  than  before.  "If  we  were  a 
222 


THE    GLEAM    OF   THE    LIGH1 

wile  or  two  back  there  it  could  all  happen  as  i 
planned  it.  But  here — " 

"They  will  hear  the  shots,"  cried  Jean,  "Tfc 
post  is  no  more  than  a  gunshot  beyond  the  forest, 
and  there  are  plenty  there  who  would  come  01^ 
to  see  what  it  means.  Quick,  M'seur — follow  me : 
Possibly  they  are  hunters  going  out  to  the  trap- 
lines.  If  it  comes  to  the  worst — " 

"What  then?"  demanded  Howland. 

"You  can  shoot  me  a  little  later,"  temporized 
the  Frenchman  with  a  show  of  his  old  coolness. 
"Mon  Dieu,  I  am  afraid  of  that  gun,  M'seur. 
I  will  get  you  out  of  this  if  I  can.  Will  you  give 
me  the  chance — or  will  you  shoot?" 

"I  will  shoot — if  you  fail,"  replied  the  en 
gineer. 

Barely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  when 
Croisset  sprang  to  the  head  of  the  dogs,  seized 
the  leader  by  his  neck-trace  and  half  dragged  the 
team  and  sledge  through  the  thick  bush  that 
edged  the  trail.  A  dozen  paces  farther  on  the 
dense  scrub  oened  into  the  clearer  run  of  tho 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

low-hanging  banskian  through  which  Jean  start 
ed  at  a  slow  trot,  with  Rowland  a  yard  behind 
turn,  and  the  huskies  following  with  human-like 
cleverness  in  the  sinuous  twistings  of  the  trail 
which  the  Frenchman  marked  out  for  them.  They 
had  progressed  not  more  than  three  hundred 
yards  when  there  came  to  them  for  a  third  time 
the  hallooing  of  a  voice.  With  a  sharp  "hup, 
hup,"  and  a  low  crack  of  his  whip  Jean  stopped 
the  dogs. 

"The  Virgin  be  praised,  but  that  is  luck !"  he 
exclaimed.  "They  have  turned  off  into  another 
trail  to  the  east,  M'seur.  If  they  had  come  on  to 
that  break  in  the  bush  where  we  dragged  the 
sledge  through — "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  a  gasp  of  relief .  "Sacre,  they  would  not  be 
fools  enough  to  pass  it  without  wondering !" 

Rowland  had  broken  the  breech  of  his  revolver 
and  was  replacing  the  three  empty  cartridges 
with  fresh  ones, 

"There  will  be  no  mistake  next  time,"  he  said, 
holding  out  the  weapon.  "You  were  as  near  your 


THE    GLEAM    OF    THE    LIGHT 

death  a  few  moments  ago  as  ever  before  in  your 
life,  Croisset — and  now  for  a  little  plain  under 
standing  between  us.  Until  we  stopped  out  there 
I  had  some  faith  in  you.  Now  I  have  none.  I  re* 
gard  you  as  my  worst  enemy,  and  though  you 
are  deuced  near  to  your  friends  I  tell  you  that 
you  were  never  in  a  tighter  box  in  your  life.  If  I 
fail  in  my  mission  here,  you  shall  die.  If  others 
come  along  that  trail  before  dark,  and  run  us 
down,  I  will  kill  you.  Unless  you  make  it  possible 
for  me  to  see  and  talk  with  Meleese  I  will  kill 
you.  Your  life  hangs  on  my  success;  with  my 
failure  your  death  is  as  certain  as  the  coming 
of  night.  I  am  going  to  put  a  bullet  through 
you  at  the  slightest  suspicion  of  treachery.  Un 
der  the  circumstances  what  do  you  propose  to 
do?" 

"I  am  glad  that  you  changed  your  mind, 
M'seur,  and  I  will  not  tempt  you  again.  I  will 
do  the  best  that  I  can,"  said  Jean.  Through  a 
narrow  break  in  the  tops  of  the  banskian  pines 
a  few  feathery  flakes  of  snow  were  falling,  and 
225 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

Jean  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  slit  of  gray  sky  above 
them.  "Within  an  hour  it  will  be  snowing  heav 
ily,"  he  affirmed.  "If  they  do  not  run  across  ouj 
trail  by  that  time,  M'seur,  we  shall  be  safe." 

He  led  the  way  through  the  forest  again,  more 
slowly  and  with  greater  caution  than  before,  and 
whenever  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  he  caught 
the  dull  gleam  of  Rowland's  revolver  as  it  point 
ed  at  the  hollow  of  his  back. 

"The  devil,  but  you  make  me  uncomfortable," 
he  protested.  "The  hammer  is  up,  too,  M'seur '" 

"Yes,  it  is  up,"  said  Howland  grimly.  "And  it 
never  leaves  your  back,  Croisset.  If  the  gun 
should  go  off  accidentally  it  would  bore  a  hole 
clean  through  you." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Frenchman  halted 
where  the  banskians  climbed  the  side  of  a  sloping 
ridge. 

*If  you  could  trust  me  I  would  ask  to  go  on 
ahead,"  whispered  Jean.  "This  ridge  shuts  in 
the  plain,  M'seur,  and  just  over  the  top  of  it  is 
an  old  cabin  which  has  been  abandoned  for 


THE    GLEAM    OF    THE    LIGHT 

many  years.  There  is  not  one  chance  in  a  thou 
sand  of  there  being  any  one  there,  though  it  is  a 
good  fox  ridge  at  this  season.  From  it  you  may 
6ee  the  light  in  Meleese's  window  at  night." 

He  did  not  stop  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  last 
words,  but  began  picking  his  way  up  the  ridge 
with  the  dogs  tugging  at  his  heels.  At  the  top  he 
swung  sharply  between  two  huge  masses  of  snow- 
covered  rock,  and  in  the  lee  of  the  largest  of 
these,  almost  entirely  sheltered  from  the  drifts 
piled  up  by  easterly  winds,  they  came  suddenly 
on  a  small  log  hut.  About  it  there  were  no 
signs  of  life.  With  unusual  eagerness  Jean 
scanned  the  surface  of  the  snow,  and  when  he  saw 
that  there  was  trail  of  neither  man  nor  beast  in 
the  unbroken  crust  a  look  of  relief  came  into  his 
face. 

"Mon  Dieu,  so  far  I  have  saved  my  hide,"  he 
grinned.  "Now,  M'seur,  look  for  yourself  and 
<see  if  Jean  Croisset  has  not  kept  his  word !" 

A  dozen  steps  had  taken  him  through  a  screen 
of  shrub  to  the  opposite  slope  of  the  ridge.  With 
227 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

outstretched  arm  he  pointed  down  into  the  plain, 
and  as  Rowland's  eyes  followed  its  direction  he 
stood  throbbing  with  sudden  excitement.  Less 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  sheltered  in  a  dip 
of  the  plain,  were  three  or  four  log  buildings  ris 
ing  black  and  desolate  out  of  the  white  waste. 
One  of  these  buildings  was  a  large  structure 
similar  to  that  in  which  Howland  had  been  im 
prisoned,  and  as  he  looked  a  team  and  sledge 
appeared  from  behind  one  of  the  cabins  and  halt 
ed  close  to  the  wall  of  the  large  building.  The 
driver  was  plainly  visible,  and  to  Rowland's  as 
tonishment  he  suddenly  began  to  ascend  the  side 
of  this  wall:  For  the  moment  Howland  had  not 
thought  of  a  stair. 

Jean's  attitude  drew  his  eyes.  The  Frenchman 
had  thrust  himself  half  out  of  the  screening 
bushes  and  was  staring  through  the  telescope  of 
his  hands.  With  an  exclamation  he  turned  quick 
ly  to  the  engineer. 

"Look,  M'seur !  Do  you  see  that  man  climbing 
the  stair?    I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  he  is 
228 


THE    GLEAM   OF   THE    LIGHT 

the  one  who  hit  you  over  the  head  on  the  trail, 
and  also  one  of  those  who  shut  you  up  in  the  coy 
ote.  Those  are  his  quarters  at  the  post,  and  pos- 
flibly  he  is  going  up  to  see  Meleese.  If  you  were 
much  of  a  shot  you  could  settle  a  score  or  two 
from  here,  M'seur." 

The  figure  had  stopped,  evidently  on  a  plat 
form  midway  up  the  side  of  the  building.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  as  if  scanning  the  plain  be 
tween  him  and  the  mountain,  then  disappeared. 
Howland  had  not  spoken  a  word,  but  every  nerve 
in  his  body  tingled  strangely. 

"You  say  Meleese — is  there?"  he  questioned 
hesitatingly.  "And  he — who  is  that  man,  Crois- 
set?" 

Jean  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  drew  himself 
back  into  the  bush,  turning  leisurely  toward  the 
old  cabin. 

"Non,  M'seur,  I  will  not  tell  you  that,"  he  pro 
tested.  "I  have  brought  you  to  this  place.  I 
have  pointed  out  to  you  the  stair  that  leads  to 
the  room  where  you  will  find  Meleese.  You  may 
229 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

cut  me  into  ribbons  for  the  ravens,  but  1  will  tefl 
you  no  more !" 

Again  the  threatening  fire  leaped  into  How 
land's  eyes. 

"I  will  trouble  you  to  put  your  hands  behind 
your  back,  Croisset,"  he  commanded.  "I  am  go 
ing  to  return  a  certain  compliment  of  yours  by 
tying  your  hands  with  this  piece  of  babeesh, 
which  you  used  on  me.  After  that — " 

"And  after  that,  M'seur — "  urged  Jean,  with 
a  touch  of  the  old  taunt  in  his  voice,  and  stop 
ping  with  his  back  to  the  engineer  and  his  hands 
behind  him.  "After  that?" 

"You  will  tell  me  all  that  I  want  to  know," 
finished  Howland,  tightening  the  thong  about  his 
wrists. 

He  led  the  way  then  to  the  cabin.  The  door 
was  closed,  but  opened  readily  as  he  put  his 
weight  against  it.  The  single  room  was  lighted 
by  a  window  through  which  a  mass  of  snow  had 
drifted,  and  contained  nothing  more  than  a  rude 
table  built  against  one  of  the  log  walls,  three 
230 


THE    GLEAM   OF   THE    LIGHT 

supply  boxes  that  had  evidently  been  employed 
as  stools,  and  a  cracked  and  rust-eaten  sheet-iron 
stove  that  had  from  all  appearances  long  passed 
intc  disuse.  He  motioned  the  Frenchman  to  a 
seat  at  one  end  of  the  table.  Without  a  word  las 
then  went  outside,  securely  toggled  the  leading 
dog,  and  returning,  closed  the  door  and  seated 
himself  at  the  end  of  the  table  opposite  Jean. 

The  light  from  the  open  window  fell  full  on 
Croisset's  dark  face  and  shone  in  a  silvery  streak 
along  the  top  of  Rowland's  revolver  as  the 
muzzle  of  it  rested  casually  on  a  line  with  the 
other's  breast.  There  was  a  menacing  click  as 
the  engineer  drew  back  the  hammer. 

"Now,  my  dear  Jean,  we're  ready  to  begin  the 
real  game,"  he  explained.  "Here  we  are,  high 
and  dry,  and  down  there — just  far  enough  away 
to  be  ou£  of  hearing  of  this  revolver  when  I 
shoot — are  those  we're  going  to  play  against, 
So  far  I've  been  completely  in  the  dark.  I  know 
of  no  ..eason  why  I  shouldn't  go  down  there 
openly  and  be  welcomed  and  given  a  good  sup- 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

per.  And  yet  at  the  same  time  I  know  that  my 
life  wouldn't  be  worth  a  tinker's  damn  if  I  did 
go  down.  You  can  clear  up  the  whole  business, 
and  that's  what  you're  going  to  do.  When  I 
understand  why  I  am  scheduled  to  be  murdered 
on  sight  I  won't  be  handicapped  as  I  now  am, 
So  go  ahead  and  spiel.  If  you  don't,  I'll  blow 
your  head  off." 

Jean  sat  unflinching,  his  lips  drawn  tightly, 
his  head  set  square  and  defiant. 

"You  may  shoot,  M'seur,"  he  said  quietly. 
"I  have  sworn  on  a  cross  of  the  Virgin  to  tell  you 
no  more  than  I  have.  You  could  not  torture  me 
into  revealing  what  you  ask." 

Slowly  Howland  raised  his  revolver. 

"Once  more,  Croisset — will  you  tell  me?" 

"A7<m,  M'seur—" 

A  deafening  explosion  filled  the  little  cabin. 
From  the  lobe  of  Jean's  ear  there  ran  a  re^ 
trickle  of  blood.  His  face  had  gone  deathly  pale, 
But  even  as  the  bullet  had  stung  him  within  ar> 
inch  of  his  brain  he  had  not  flinched. 
232 


THE    GLEAM   OF   THE   LIGHT 

"Will  you  tell  me,  Croisset?" 

This  time  the  black  pit  of  the  engineer's  re 
volver  centered  squarely  between  the  French' 
man's  eyes. 

"Non,  M'seur." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  over  the  blue 
steeh  With  a  cry  Howland  slowly  lowered  his 
weapon* 

"Good  God,  but  you're  a  brave  man,  Jean 
Croisset !"  he  cried.  "I'd  sooner  kill  a  dozen  men 
Uaafr  I  know  than  you !" 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  went  to  the  doort 
There  was  still  but  little  snow  in  the  air.  To  the 
north  the  horizon  was  growing  black  with  the 
early  approach  of  the  northern  night.  With  a 
nervous  laugh  he  returned  to  Jean. 

"Deuce  take  it  if  I  don't  feel  like  apologizing 
to  you,"  he  exclaimed.  "Does  your  ear  hurt?" 

"No  more  than  if  I  had  scratched  it  with  4 
thorn,"  returned  Jean  politely.  "You  are  good 
with  the  pistol,  M'seur." 

"I  would  not  profit  by  killing  you — just 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

mused  Rowland,  seating  himself  again  on  the 
box  and  resting  his  chin  in  the  palm  of  his  hand 
as  he  looked  across  at  the  other.  "But  that's  * 
pretty  good  intimation  that  I'm  desperate  ant 
mean  business,  Croisset.  We  won't  quarrel  about 
the  things  I've  asked  you.  What  I'm  here  for  is 
to  see  Meleese.  Now — how  is  that  to  happen?" 

"For  the  life  of  me  I  don't  know,"  replied 
Jean,  as  calmly  as  though  a  bullet  had  not 
nipped  the  edge  of  his  ear  a  moment  before 
"There  is  only  one  way  I  can  see,  M'seur,  and 
that  is  to  wait  and  watch  from  this  mountain  top 
until  Meleese  drives  out  her  dogs.  She  has  her 
own  team,  and  in  ordinary  seasons  frequently 
goes  out  alone  or  with  one  of  the  women  at  the 
post.  Mon  Dieu,  she  has  had  enough  sledge- 
riding  of  late,  and  I  doubt  if  she  will  find  pleas 
ttre  in  her  dogs  for  a  long  time." 

"I  had  planned  to  use  you,"  said  Rowland 

*but  I've  lost  faith  in  you.    Honestly,  Croisset 

I  believe  you  would  stick  me  in  the  h#ck 

as  quickly  as  those  murderers  down  ckt»r£  *' 

234 


THE    GLEAM    OF    THE    LIGHT 

"Not  in  the  back,  M'seur,"  smiled  the  French* 
man,  unmoved.  "I  have  had  opportunities  to  dc 
that.  Now,  since  that  fight  back  there  I  do  no* 
believe  that  I  want  to  kill  you." 

"But  I  would  be  a  fool  to  trust  yotu  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"Not  if  I  gave  you  my  word.  That  is  some 
thing  we  do  not  break  up  here  as  you  d®  down 
among  the  Wekusko  people,  and  farther  south." 

"But  you  murder  people  for  pastime — eh,  my 
dear  Jean?" 

Croisset  shrugged  his  shoulders  without 
speaking. 

"See  here,  Croisset,"  said  Rowland  with  suc^ 
den  earnestness,  "I'm  almost  tempted  to  take  a 
chance  with  you.  Will  you  go  down  to  the  post 
to-night,  in  some  way  gain  access  to  Meleese,  and 
give  her  a  message  from  me?" 

"And  the  message — what  would  it  be?** 

"It  would  bring  Meleese  up  to  this  cabin-* 
to-night." 

"Are  you  sure,  M'seur?" 
235 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

"I  am  certain  that  it  would.    Will  you  go?"* 

"Non,  M'seur." 

"The  devil  take  you !"  cried  Rowland  angrily 
If  I  was  not  certain  that  I  would  need  you  later 
I'd  garrote  you  where  you  sit." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  old  stove.  It  was 
still  capable  of  holding  fire,  and  as  it  had  grown 
too  dark  outside  for  the  rmoke  to  be  observed 
from  the  post,  he  proceeded  to  prepare  a  supper 
of  hot  coffee  and  meat.  Jean  watched  him  in 
silence,  and  not  until  food  and  drink  were  on  the 
table  did  the  engineer  himself  break  silence. 

"Of  course,  I'm  not  going  to  feed  you,"  he 
said  curtly,  "so  I'll  have  to  free  your  hand? 
But  be  careful." 

He  placed  his  revolver  on  the  table  beside  hint 
after  he  had  freed  Croisset* 

"I  might  assassinate  you  with  a  fork!" 
chuckled  the  Frenchman  softly,  his  black  eye* 
laughing  over  his  coffee  cup.  "I  drink  your 
health,  M'seur,  and  wish  you 

"You  lie !"  snapped  Rowland. 
236 


THE    GLEAM   OF   THE    LIGHT 

Jean  lowered  the  cup  without  drinking, 

"It's  the  truth,  M'seur,"  he  insisted.  "Since 
that  fce*?-utiful  fight  back  there  I  can  not  help 
but  wish  you  happiness.  I  drink  also  to  the 
happiness  of  Meleese,  also  to  the  happiness  of  • 
those  who  tried  to  kill  you  on  the  trail  and  at  the 
coyote.  But,  Mon  Dieu,  how  is  it  all  to  come? 
Those  at  the  post  are  happy  because  they  believe 
that  you  are  dead.  You  will  not  be  happy  until 
they  are  dead.  And  Meleese — how  will  all  this 
bring  happiness  to  her?  I  tell  you  that  I  am  as 
deep  in  trouble  as  you,  M'seur  Howland.  May 
the  Virgin  strike  me  dead  if  I'm  not!" 

He  drank,  his  eyes  darkening  gloomily.  In 
that  moment  there  flashed  into  Rowland's  mind 
a  memory  of  the  battle  that  Jean  had  fought  for 
him  on  the  Great  North  Trail. 

"You  nearly  killed  one  of  them — that  night 
—at  Prince  Albert,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  can't 
understand  why  you  fought  for  me  then  and 
won't  help  me  now.  But  you  did  And  you're 
qf raid  to  go  down  there — " 
237 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

"Until  I  have  regrown  a  beard,"  interrupted 
Jean  with  a  low  chuckling  laugh.  "You  would 
not  be  the  only  one  to  die  if  they  saw  me  again 
like  this.  But  that  is  enough,  M'seur.  I  will 
say  no  more." 

**I  really  don't  want  to  make  you  uncomfort 
able.  Jean,"  Rowland  apologized,  as  he  secured 
the  Frenchman's  hands  again  after  they  had  sat 
isfied  their  hearty  appetites,  "but  unless  you 
swear  by  your  Virgin  or  something  else  that  you 
will  make  no  attempt  to  call  assistance  I  shall 
have  to  gag  you.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"I  will  make  no  outcry,  M'seur.  I  give  you 
my  word  for  that." 

With  another  length  of  babeesh  Howland  tied 
his  companion's  legs. 

"I'm  £->ing  to  investigate  a  little,"  he  ex 
plained.  "I  am  not  afraid  of  your  voice,  for  if 
you  begin  to  shout  I  will  hear  you  first.  But 
With  your  legs  free  you  might  take  it  into  your 
bead  to  run  away." 

"Would  you  mind  spreading  a  blanket  on  the 
238 


floor,  M'seur?    If  you  are  gone  long  this  bo» 
will  grow  hard  and  sharp." 

A  few  minutes  later,  after  he  had  made  hif 
prisoner  as  comfortable  as  possible  in  the  cabin, 
Rowland  went  again  through  the  fringe  of  scrub 
bush  to  the  edge  of  the  ridge.  Below  him  the 
plain  was  lost  in  the  gloom  of  night.  He  could 
see  nothing  of  the  buildings  at  the  post  but  two 
or  three  lights  gleaming  faintly  through  the 
darkness.  Overhead  there  were  no  stars ;  thick 
ening  snow  shut  out  what  illumination  there 
might  have  been  in  the  north,  and  even  as  he 
stood  looking  into  the  desolation  to  the  west  the 
snow  fell  faster  and  the  lights  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  until  all  was  a  chaos  of  blackness. 

In  these  moments  a  desire  that  was  almost 
madness  swept  over  him.  Since  his  fight  witn 
Jean  the  swift  passing  of  events  had  confined  his 
thoughts  to  their  one  objective — the  finding  oJ 
Meleese  and  her  people.  He  had  assured  him 
self  that  his  every  move  was  to  be  a  cool  and  cal 
culating  one,  that  nothing — not  even  his  great 
239 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

love — should  urge  him  beyond  that  reason  whicK 
had  made  him  a  master-builder  among  men.  As 
he  stood  with  the  snow  falling  heavily  on  him  he 
knew  that  his  trail  would  be  covered  before  an 
other  day — that  for  an  indefinite  period  he  might 
safely  wait  and  watch  for  Meleese  on  the  moun 
tain  top.  And  yet,  slowly,  he  made  his  way 
down  the  side  of  the  ridge.  A  little  way  out 
there  in  the  gloom,  barely  beyond  the  call  of  hi? 
voice,  was  the  girl  for  whom  he  was  willing  is 
sacrifice  all  that  he  had  ever  achieved  in  lifet 
With  each  step  the  desire  in  him  grew — the  im 
pulse  to  bring  himself  nearer  to  her,  to  steal 
across  the  plain,  to  approach  in  the  silent  smother 
of  the  storm  until  he  could  look  on  the  light 
which  Jean  Croisset  had  told  him  would  gleam 
from  her  window. 

He  descended  to  the  foot  of  the  ridge  and 
beaded  into  the  plain,  taking  the  caution  to  bury 
his  feet  deep  in  the  snow  that  he  might  have  a 
trail  to  guide  him  back  to  the  cabin.  At  first  he 
found  himself  impeded  by  low  bush.  Then  the 
240 


THE   GLEAM   OF   THE   LIGHT 

plain  became  more  open,  and  he  knew  that  there 
was  nothing  but  the  night  and  the  snow  to  shut 
jut  his  vision  ahead.  Still  he  had  no  motive,  no 
reason  for  what  he  did.  The  snow  would  cover 
his  tracks  before  morning.  There  would  be  no 
harm  done,  and  he  might  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
light,  of  her  light. 

It  came  on  his  vision  with  a  suddenness  that 
set  his  heart  leaping.  A  dog  barked  ahead  of 
him,  so  near  that  he  stopped  in  his  tracks,  and 
then  suddenly  there  shot  through  the  snow-gloom 
the  bright  gleam  of  a  lamp.  Before  he  had 
taken  another  breath  he  was  aware  of  what  had 
happened.  A  curtain  had  been  drawn  aside  in 
the  chaos  ahead.  He  was  almost  on  the  walls 
of  the  post — and  the  light  gleamed  from  high 
up,  from  the  head  of  the  stair ! 

For  a  space  he  stood  still,  listening  and  watch- 
Ing.  There  was  no  other  light,  no  other  sound 
after  the  barking  of  the  dog.  About  him  the 
snow  fell  with  fluttering  noiselessness  and  it 
filled  him  with  a  sensation  of  safety.  The  sharp- 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

est  eyes  could  not  see  him,  the  keenest  ears  could 
not  hear  him — and  he  advanced  again  until  be 
fore  him  there  rose  out  of  the  gloom  a  hugi 
shadowy  mass  that  was  blacker  than  the  night 
itself.  The  one  lighted  window  was  plainly 
visible  now,  its  curtain  two-thirds  drawn,  and  as 
he  looked  a  shadow  passed  over  it.  Was  it  a 
woman's  shadow?  The  window  darkened  as  the 
figure  within  came  nearer  to  it,  and  Rowland 
stood  with  clenched  hands  and  wildly  beating 
heart,  almost  ready  to  call  out  softly  a  name.  A 
little  nearer — one  more  step — and  he  would 
know.  He  might  throw  a  chunk  of  snow-crustf 
^,  cartridge  from  his  belt — and  then — 

The  shadow  disappeared.  Dimly  Howland 
made  out  the  snow-covered  stair,  and  he  went  to 
it  and  looked  up.  Ten  feet  above  him  the  light 
shone  out. 

He  looked  into  the  gloom  behind  him,  into  thf 
gloom  out  of  which  he  had  come.  Nothing — 
nothing  but  the  storm.  Swiftly  he  mounted  the 
stair. 

Mi 


CHAPTER  XV 

SN  THE  BEDROOM  CHAMBER 

FLATTENING  himself  closely  against  the 
black  logs  of  the  wall  Howland  paused  on 
the  platform  at  the  top  of  the  stair.  His  grop 
ing  hand  touched  the  jam  of  a  door  and  he  held 
his  breath  when  his  fingers  incautiously  rattled 
the  steel  of  a  latch.  In  another  moment  he 
passed  on,  three  paces — four — along  the  plat 
form,  at  last  sinking  on  his  knees  in  the  snow, 
close  under  the  window,  his  eyes  searched  the 
lighted  room  an  inch  at  a  time.  He  saw  a  sec 
tion  of  wall  at  first,  dimly  illuminated;  then  a 
small  table  rear  the  window  covered  with  books 
and  magazines,  and  beside  it  a  reclining  chair 
buried  thick  under  a  great  white  bear  robe.  Or 
the  table,  but  beyond  his  vision,  was  the  lamp. 
He  drew  himself  a  few  inches  more  through  the 
snow,  leaning  still  farther  ahead,  until  he 
243 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

the  foot  of  a  white  bed.  A  little  more  and  he 
stopped,  his  white  face  close  to  the  window-pane 

On  the  bed,  facing  him,  sat  Meleese.  Her  chiu 
was  buried  in  the  cup  of  her  hands,  and  he  no* 
ticed  that  she  was  in  a  dressing-gown  and  that 
her  beautiful  hair  was  loosed  and  flowing  in 
glistening  waves  about  her,  as  though  she  had 
just  brushed  it  for  the  night.  A  movement,  a 
slight  shifting  of  her  eyes,  and  she  would  have 
seen  him. 

He  was  filled  with  an  almost  mastering  im 
pulse  to  press  his  face  closer,  to  tap  on  the  win 
dow,  to  draw  her  eyes  to  him,  but  even  as  his 
hand  rose  to  do  the  bidding  of  that  impulse 
something  restrained  him.  Slowly  the  girl  lifted 
her  head,  and  he  was  thrilled  to  find  that  another 
•onpulse  drew  him  back  until  his  ghostly  face  was 
a  part  of  the  elusive  snow-gloom.  He  watched 
her  as  she  turned  from  him  and  threw  back  the 
£lcry  of  her  hair  until  it  half  hid  her  in  a  mass 
of  copper  and  gold;  from  his  distance  he  stil" 
gazed  at  her,  choking  and  undecided,  while  she 
244 


IN   THE    BEDROOM   CHAMBER 

gathered  it  in  three  heavy  strands  and  plaited 
it  into  a  shining  braid. 

For  an  instant  has  eyes  wandered.  BeyonJ 
her  presence  the  room  was  empty.  He  saw  a  door, 
and  observed  that  it  opened  into  another  rocrint, 
which  in  turn  could  be  entered  through  the  plafr 
form  door  behind  him.  With  his  old  exactness 
for  detail  he  leaped  to  definite  conclusion.  These 
were  Meleese's  apartments  at  the  post,  separated 
from  all  others — and  Meleese  was  preparing  to 
retire  for  the  night.  If  the  outer  door  was  not 
locked,  and  he  entered,  what  danger  could  there 
be  of  interruption?  It  was  late.  The  post  wa* 
asleep.  He  had  seen  no  light  but  that  in  the  win 
dow  through  which  he  was  staring. 

The  thought  was  scarcely  born  before  he  wag 
at  the  platform  door.  The  latch  clicked  gently 
under  his  fingers :,  cautiously  he  pushed  the  door 
inward  and  thrust  in  his  head  and  shoulders. 
The  air  inside  was  cold  and  frosty.  He  reached 
out  an  arm  to  the  right  and  his  hand  encountered 
the  rough-hewn  surface  of  a  wall ;  he  advance** 
245 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

v.  *cep  and  reached  out  to  the  left.  There,  too* 
his  hand  touched  a  wall.  He  was  in  a  narrow 
?orridor.  Ahead  of  him  there  shone  a  thin  ray 
of  light  from  under  the  door  that  opened  int« 
Meleese's  room.  Nerving  himself  for  the  last 
move,  he  went  boldly  to  the  door,  knocked  lightly 
to  give  some  warning  of  his  presence,  and  en 
tered.  Meleese  was  gone.  He  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  scarce  believing  his  eyes.  Then  at 
the  far  end  of  the  room  he  saw  a  curtain,  undu 
lating  slightly  as  if  from  the  movement  of  a  per 
son  on  the  other  side  of  it. 

"Meleese !"  he  called  softly. 

White  and  dripping  with  snow,  his  face  blood' 
less  in  the  tense  excitement  of  the  moment,  he 
stood  with  his  arms  half  reaching  out  when  the 
curtain  was  thrust  aside  and  the  girl  stood  before 
him.  At  first  she  did  not  recognize  him  in  his 
ghostly  storm-covered  disguise.  But  before  th| 
startled  cry  that  was  on  her  lips  found  utterance 
the  fear  that  had  blanched  her  face  gave  place 
to  a  swift  sweeping  flood  of  color.  For  a  space 
246 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

there  was  no  word  between  them  as  they  stood 
separated  by  the  breadth  of  the  room,  Howland 
with  his  arms  held  out  to  her  in  pleading  silence, 
Meleese  with  her  hands  clutched  to  her  bosom, 
her  throat  atremble  with  strange  sobbing  notes 
that  made  no  more  sound  than  the  fluttering  of 
a  bird's  wing. 

And  Howland,  as  he  came  across  the  room  to 
her,  found  no  words  to  say — none  of  the  things 
that  he  had  meant  to  whisper  to  her,  but  drew 
her  to  him  and  crushed  her  close  to  his  breast, 
knowing  that  in  this  moment  nothing  could  tell 
her  more  eloquently  than  the  throbbing  of  his 
own  heart,  the  passionate  pressure  of  his  face  to 
her  face,  of  his  great  love  which  seemed  to  stir 
into  life  the  very  silence  that  encompassed  them. 

It  was  a  silence  broken  after  a  moment  by  a  short 
choking  cry,  the  quick-breathing  terror  of  a  face 
turned  suddenly  up  to  him  robbed  of  its  flush 
and  quivering  with  a  fear  that  still  found  no 
voice  in  words.  He  felt  the  girl's  arms  strain 
ing  against  him  for  freedom ;  her  eyes  were  filled 
247 


THE    DANGER   TRAIT 

with  a  staring,  questioning  horror,  as  though  hi* 
presence  had  grown  into  a  thing  of  which  she 
was  afraid.  The  change  was  tonic  to  him.  This 
was  what  he  had  expected — the  first  terror  at  his 
presence,  the  struggle  against  his  will,  and  there 
surged  back  over  him  the  forces  he  had  reserved 
for  this  moment.  He  opened  his  arms  and  Me- 
leese  slipped  from  them,  her  hands  clutched  again 
in  the  clinging  drapery  of  her  bosom. 

"I  have  come  for  you,  Meleese,"  he  said  as 
calmly  as  though  his  arrival  had  been  expected. 
"Jean  is  my  prisoner.  I  forced  him  to  drive  me 
to  the  old  cabin  up  on  the  mountain,  and  he  is 
waiting  there  with  the  dogs.  We  will  start  back 
to-night — now."  Suddenly  he  sprang  to  her 
again,  his  voice  breaking  in  a  low  pleading  cry. 
"My  God,  don't  you  see  now  how  I  love  you?" 
he  went  on,  taking  her  white  face  between  his 
two  hands.  "Don't  you  understand,  Meleese? 
Jean  and  I  have  fought — he  is  bound  hand  and 
foot  up  there  in  the  cabin — and  I  am  waiting  for 
you — for  you — "  He  pressed  her  face  against 
248 


IN   THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

him,  her  lips  so  close  that  he  could  feel  their 
quavering  breath.  "I  have  come  to  fight  for 
you  —  if  you  won't  go,"  he  whispered  tensely, 
"I  don't  know  why  your  people  have  tried  to  kill 
me,  I  don't  know  why  they  want  to  kill  me,  and 
it  makes  no  difference  to  me  now.  I  want  you. 
I've  wanted  you  since  that  first  glimpse  of  your 
face  through  the  window,  since  the  fight  on  the 
trail  —  every  minute,  every  hour,  and  I  won't 
give  you  up  as  long  as  I'm  alive.  If  you  won't 
go  with  me  —  if  you  won't  go  now  —  to-night  —  " 
He  held  her  closer,  his  voice  trembling  in  her 
hair.  "If  you  won't  go  —  I'm  going  to  stay  with 
you!" 


was  a  thrillingly  decisive  note  in  his 
last  words,  a  note  that  carried  with  it  more  than 
all  he  had  said  before,  and  as  Meleese  partly 
drew  away  from  him  again  she  gave  a  sharp  crj 
of  protest. 

"No  —  no  —  no  —  ^    she    panted,    her    hands 
clutching  at  his  arm.    "You  must  go  back  now 
—now  —  "    She  pushed  him  toward  the  door,  and 
249 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

US  he  backed  a  step,  looking  down  into  her  face, 
he  saw  the  choking  tremble  of  her  white  throat, 
heard  again  the  fluttering  terror  in  her  breath. 
*They  will  kill  you  if  they  find  you  here,"  she 
urged.  "They  think  you  are  dead — that  you 
fell  through  the  ice  and  were  drowned.  If  you 
don't  believe  me,  if  you  don't  believe  that  I  can 
never  go  with  you,  tell  Jean — " 

Her  words  seemed  to  choke  her  as  she  strug 
gled  to  finish. 

"Tell  Jean  what?"  he  questioned  softly. 

"Will  you  go — then?"  she  cried  with  sobbing 
eagerness,  as  if  he  already  understood  her.  "Will 
you  go  back  if  Jean  tells  you  everything— every 
thing  about  me — about — " 

"No,"  he  interrupted. 

"If  you  only  knew — then  you  would  go  back, 
V)d  never  see  me  again.  You  would  under- 
tand— " 

**I  will  never  understand,"  he  interrupted 
again.  "I  say  that  it  is  you  who  do  not  under- 
utand,  Meleese!  I  don't  care  what  Jean  would 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

teh  me.  Nothing  that  has  ever  happened  can 
make  me  not  want  you.  Don't  you  understand? 
Nothing,  I  say — nothing  that  has  happened— 
that  can  ever  happen — unless — " 

For  a  moment  he  stopped,  looking  straighi 
into  her  eyes. 

"Nothing — nothing  in  the  world,  Meleese,"  he 
repeated  almost  in  a  whisper,  "unless  you  did 
not  tell  me  the  truth  jack  on  the  trail  at  We- 
kusko  when  you  said  that  it  was  not  a  sin  to 
love  you." 

"And  if  I  tell  you — if  I  confess  that  it  is  a 
sin,  that  I  lied  back  there — then  will  you  go?" 
she  demanded  quickly. 

Her  eyes  flamed  on  him  with  a  strange  light. 

"No,"  he  said  calmly.  "I  would  not  believe 
you." 

"But  it  is  the  truth.  I  lied — lied  terribly  t« 
you.  I  have  sinned  even  more  terribly,  and — 
and  you  must  go.  Don't  you  understand  me 
now?  If  some  one  should  come — and  find  you 
here — " 

251 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

"There  would  be  a  fight,"  he  said  grimly.  "I 
have  come  prepared  to  fight."  He  waited  a  mo 
ment,  and  in  the  silence  the  brown  head  in  front 
of  him  dropped  slowly  and  he  saw  a  tremor  pass 
through  the  slender  form,  as  if  it  had  been  torn 
by  an  instant's  pain.  The  pallor  had  gone  from 
Rowland's  face.  The  mute  surrender  in  the 
bowed  head,  the  soft  sobbing  notes  that  he  heard 
now  in  the  girl's  breath,  the  confession  that  he 
read  in  her  voiceless  grief  set  his  heart  leaping, 
and  again  he  drew  her  close  into  his  arms  and 
turned  her  face  up  to  his  own.  There  was  no  re 
sistance  now,  no  words,  no  pleading  for  him  to 
go;  but  in  her  eyes  he  saw  the  prayerful  en 
treaty  with  which  she  had  come  to  him  on  the 
Wekusko  trail,  and  in  the  quivering  red  mouth 
the  same  torture  and  love  and  half-surrender 
that  had  burned  themselves  into  his  soul  there. 
Love,  triumph,  undying  faith  shone  in  his  eyes, 
and  he  crushed  her  face  closer  until  the  lovely 
mouth  lay  pouted  like  a  crimson  rose  for  him  to 
kiss. 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

"You — you  told  me  something  that  wasn't 
true — once — back  there,"  he  whispered,  "and 
you  promised  that  you  wouldn't  do  it  again 
You  haven't  sinned — in  the  way  that  I  mean, 
and  in  the  way  that  you  want  me  to  believe." 
His  arms  tightened  still  more  about  her,  and  his 
voice  was  suddenly  filled  with  a  tense  quick 
eagerness.  "Why  don't  you  tell  me  every 
thing?"  he  asked.  "You  believe  that  if  I  knew 
certain  things  I  would  never  want  to  see  you 
again,  that  I  would  go  back  into  the  South. 
You  have  told  me  that.  Then — if  you  want  me 
to  go — why  don't  you  reveal  these  things  to  me? 
If  you  can't  do  that,  go  with  me  to-night.  We 
will  go  anywhere — to  the  ends  of  the  earth — " 

He  stopped  at  the  look  that  had  come  into  her 
face.  Her  eyes  were  turned  to  the  window.  He 
saw  them  filled  with  a  strange  terror,  and  invol 
untarily  his  own  followed  them  to  where  the 
storm  was  beating  softly  against  the  window- 
pane.  Close  to  the  lighted  glass  was  pressed  a 
man's  face.  He  caught  a  flashing  glimpse  of  a 
253 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

pair  of  eyes  staring  in  at  them,  of  a  thick,  wild 
beard  whitened  by  the  snow.  He  knew  the  face. 
When  life  seemed  slipping  out  of  his  throat  he 
had  looked  up  into  it  that  night  of  the  ambush 
on  the  Great  North  Trail.  There  was  the  same 
hatred,  the  same  demoniac  fierceness  in  it  now. 

With  a  quick  movement  Howland  sprang  away 
from  the  girl  and  leveled  his  revolver  to  where 
the  face  had  been.  Over  the  shining  barrel  he 
saw  only  the  taunting  emptiness  of  the  storm. 
Scarcely  had  the  face  disappeared  when  there 
came  the  loud  shout  of  a  man,  the  hoarse  calling 
of  a  name,  and  then  of  another,  and  after  that 
the  quick,  furious  opening  of  the  outer  door. 

Howland  whirled,  his  weapon  pointing  to  the 
only  entrance.  The  girl  was  ahead  of  him  and 
with  a  warning  cry  he  swung  the  muzzle  of  his 
i*un  upward.  In  a  moment  she  had  pushed  the 
x>lt  that  locked  the  room  from  the  inside,  and 
aad  leaped  back  to  him,  her  face  white,  her 
breath  breaking  in  fear.  She  spoke  w  wwd, 
but  with  a  moan  of  terror  caught  bi«.  t»»  **in 
254 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

arm  and  pulled  him  past  the  light  and  beyond 
the  thick  curtain  that  had  hidden  her  when  h€ 
had  entered  the  room  a  few  minutes  before 
They  were  in  a  second  room,  palely  lighted  by  8 
mass  of  coals  gleaming  through  the  open  door 
of  a  box  stove,  and  with  a  second  window  look 
ing  out  into  the  thick  night.  Fiercely  she 
dragged  him  to  this  window,  her  fingers  biting 
Jeep  into  the  flesh  of  his  arm. 

"You  must  go — through  this!"  she  cried 
chokingly.  "Quick!  O,  my  God,  won't  you 
hurry?  Won't  you  go?" 

Howland  had  stopped.  From  the  blackness  of 
the  corridor  there  came  the  beat  of  heavy  fists 
on  the  door  and  the  rage  of  a  thundering  voice 
demanding  admittance.  From  out  in  the  night 
it  was  answered  by  the  sharp  barking  of  a  dog 
and  the  shout  of  a  second  voice. 

"Why  should  I  go?"  he  asked.  "I  told  you  ( 
few  moments  ago  that  I  had  come  prepared  tf 
fight,  Meleese.  I  shall  stay — and  fight !" 

"Please — please  go!"  she  sobbed,  striving  te 
255 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

pull  him  nearer  to  the  window.  "You  can  get 
away  in  the  storm.  The  snow  will  cover  your 
trail.  If  you  stay  they  will  kill  you — kill  you — * 

"I  prefer  to  fight  and  be  killed  rather  than  to 
run  away  without  you,"  he  interrupted.  "If 
you  will  go — " 

She  crushed  herself  against  his  breast. 

"I  can't  go — now — this  way — "  she  urged. 
"But  I  will  come  to  you.  I  promise  that — I  will 
come  to  you."  For  an  instant  her  hands  clasped 
his  face.  "Will  you  go — if  I  promise  you  that  ?" 

"You  swear  that  you  will  follow  me — that  you 
will  come  down  to  the  Wekusko?  My  God,  are 
you  telling  me  the  truth,  Meleese  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  will  come  to  you — if  you  go  now." 
She  broke  from  him  and  he  heard  her  fumbling 
at  the  window.  "I  will  come — I  will  come — but 
not  to  Wekusko.  They  will  follow  you  there. 
Gro  back  to  Priu.ee  Albert — to  the  hotel  where  I 
tooked  at  you  through  the  window.  I  will  come 
•Here — s^r^time — as  soon  as  I  can — " 

A  blast  of  cold  air  swept  into  his  face.  He 
256 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

had  thrust  his  revolver  into  its  holster  and  now 
again  for  an  instant  he  held  Meleese  close  in  his 
arms. 

"You  will  be  my  wife?"  he  whispered. 

He  felt  her  throbbing  against  him.  Suddenly 
her  arms  tightened  around  his  neck. 

"Yes,  if  you  want  me  then — if  you  want  me 
after  you  know  what  I  am.  Now,  go — please, 
please  go !" 

He  pulled  himself  through  the  window,  hang 
ing  for  a  last  moment  to  the  ledge. 

"If  you  fail  to  come — within  a  month — I  shall 
return,"  he  said. 

Her  hands  were  at  his  face  again.  Once  more, 
as  on  the  trail  at  Le  Pas,  he  felt  the  sweet  pres 
sure  of  her  lips. 

"I  will  come,"  she  whispered. 

Her  hands  thrust  him  back  and  he  was  fo?ced 
to  drop  to  the  snow  below.  Scarcely  had  his 
feet  touched  when  there  sounded  the  fierce  yelp 
of  a  dog  close  to  him,  and  as  he  darted  away 
into  the  smother  of  the  storm  the  brute  followed 
257 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

at  his  heels,  barking  excitedly  in  the  manner  of 
the  mongrel  curs  that  had  found  their  way  up 
firm  the  South.  Between  the  dog's  alarm  anc 
the  loud  outcry  of  men  there  was  barely  time  in 
which  to  draw  a  breath.  From  the  stair  plat 
form  came  a  rapid  fusillade  of  rifle  shots  that 
sang  through  the  air  above  Rowland's  head,  and 
mingled  with  the  fire  was  a  hoarse  voice  urging 
on  the  cur  that  followed  within  a  leap  of  his 
heels. 

The  presence  of  the  dog  filled  the  engineer 
with  a  fear  that  he  had  not  anticipated.  Not 
for  an  instant  did  the  brute  give  slack  to  his 
tongue  as  they  raced  through  the  night,  and 
Rowland  knew  now  that  the  storm  and  the  dark 
ness  were  of  little  avail  in  his  race  for  life. 
There  was  but  one  chance,  and  he  determined  to 
take  it.  Gradually  he  slackened  his  pace,  draw- 
ing  and  cocking  his  revolver ;  then  he  turned  sud 
denly  to  confront  the  yelping  Nemesis  behind 
him.  Three  times  he  fired  in  quick  succession 
at  «  moving  blot  in  the  snow-gloom,  and  then 
258 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

ap  from  that  blot  a  wailing  cry  that  ht 
knew  was  caused  by  the  deep  bite  of  lead. 

Again  he  plunged  on,  a  muffled  shout  of  de- 
iance  on  his  lips.  Never  had  the  fire  of  battle 
raged  in  his  veins  as  now.  Back  in  the  window, 
listening  in  terror,  praying  for  him,  was  Me- 
leese.  The  knowledge  that  she  was  there,  that 
at  last  he  had  won  her  and  was  fighting  for  her, 
stirred  him  with  a  joy  that  was  next  to  madness. 
Nothing  could  stop  him  now.  He  loaded  his 
revolver  as  he  ran,  slackening  his  pace  as  he  cov 
ered  greater  distance,  for  he  knew  that  in  the 
storm  his  trail  could  be  followed  scarcely  faster 
than  a  walk. 

He  gave  no  thought  to  Jean  Croisset,  bound 
hand  and  foot  in  the  little  cabin  on  the 
mountain.  Even  as  he  had  clung  to  the  window 
for  that  last  moment  it  had  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  folly  to  return  to  the  French 
man.  Meleese  had  promised  to  come  to  him,  and 
he  believed  her,  and  for  that  reason  Jean  was  :io 
longer  of  use  to  him.  Alone  he  would  lose  him 
259 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

self  in  that  wilderness,  alone  work  his  way  into 
the  South,  trusting  to  his  revolver  for  food,  and 
to  his  compass  and  the  matches  in  his  pocket  foj 
life.  There  would  be  no  sledge-trail  for  his 
enemies  to  follow,  no  treachery  to  fear.  It  would 
take  a  thousand  men  to  find  him  after  the  night's 
storm  had  covered  up  his  retreat,  and  if  one 
should  find  him  they  two  would  be  alone  to  fight 
it  out. 

For  a  moment  he  stopped  to  listen  and  stare 
futilely  into  the  blackness  behind  him.  When 
he  turned  to  go  on  his  heart  stood  still.  A 
shadow  had  loomed  out  of  the  night  half  a  dozen 
paces  ahead  of  him,  and  before  he  could  raise 
his  revolver  the  shadow  was  lightened  by  a  sharp 
flash  of  fire.  Rowland  staggered  back,  his 
fingers  loosening  their  grip  on  his  pistol,  and 
as  he  crumpled  down  into  the  snow  he  heard  over 
him  the  hoarse  voice  that  had  urged  on  the  dog 
After  that  there  was  a  space  of  silence,  of  black 
^hiv>s  in  which  he  neither  reasoned  nor  lived,  and 
iher  \here  came  to  him  faintly  the  sound  of  other 
260 


IN    THE    BEDROOM    CHAMBER 

voices.  Finally  all  of  them  were  lost  in  one— a 
noaning,  sobbing  voice  that  was  calling  his  name 
igain  and  again,  a  voice  that  seemed  to  reach  to 
dm  from  out  of  an  infinity  of  distance,  and  that 
he  knew  was  the  voice  of  Meleese.  He  strove  to 
speak,  to  lift  his  arms,  but  his  tongue  was  as 
lead,  his  arms  as  though  fettered  with  steel 
bands. 

The  voice  died  away.  He  lived  through  a 
cycle  of  speechless,  painless  night  into  which 
finally  a  gleam  of  dawn  returned.  He  felt  as  if 
years  were  passing  in  his  efforts  to  move,  to  lift 
himself  out  of  chaos.  But  at  last  he  won.  His 
^yes  opened,  he  raised  himself.  His  first  sensa 
tion  was  that  he  was  no  longer  in  the  snow  and 
that  the  storm  was  not  beating  into  his  face. 
Instead  there  encompassed  him  a  damp  dungeon- 
like  chill.  Everywhere  there  was  blackness — 
everywhere  except  in  one  spot,  where  a  little  yel» 
low  eye  of  fire  watched  him  and  blinked  at  him. 
At  first  he  thought  that  the  eye  must  be  miles 
and  miles  away.  But  it  came  quickly  nearer**^ 
261 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

and  still  nearer — until  at  last  he  knew  that  it 
was  a  candle  burning  with  the  silence  of  a  deatb 
taper  a  yard  or  two  beyond  his  feet. 


JEAN  S    STORY 

IT  was  the  candle-light  that  dragged  Rowland 
quickly  back  into  consciousness  and  pain. 
He  knew  that  he  was  no  longer  in  the  snow.  His 
fingers  dug  into  damp  earth  as  he  made  an  effort 
to  raise  himself,  and  with  that  effort  it  seemed  as 
though  a  red-hot  knife  had  cleft  him  from  the 
top  of  his  skull  to  his  chest.  The  agony  of  that 
instant's  pain  drew  a  sharp  cry  from  him  and 
he  clutched  both  hands  to  his  head,  waiting  and 
fearing.  It  did  not  come  again  and  he  sat  up. 
A  hundred  candles  danced  and  blinked  before 
him  like  so  many  taunting  eyes  and  turned  him 
dizzy  with  a  sickening  nausea.  One  by  one  the 
lights  faded  away  after  that  until  there  was  left 
jnly  the  steady  glow  of  the  real  candle. 

The  fingers  of  Rowland's   right  hand  were 
isticky  when  he  drew  them  away  from  his  head. 
263 


THE    DANGER    TRAIE 

and  he  shivered.  The  tongue  of  flame  leaping 
out  of  the  night,  the  thunderous  report,  the 
deluge  of  fire  that  had  filled  his  brain,  all  bore 
their  meaning  for  him  now.  It  had  been  a  close 
call,  so  close  that  shivering  chills  ran  irp  and 
down  his  spine  as  he  struggled  little  by  little  to 
lift  himself  to  his  knees.  His  enemy's  shot  had 
grazed  his  head  A  quarter  of  an  inch  more,  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  even,  and  there  would  have 
been  no  awakening.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  few 
moments,  and  when  he  opened  them  his  vision 
had  gained  distance.  About  him  he  made  out 
indistinctly  the  black  encompassing  walls  of  his 
prison. 

It  seemed  an  interminable  time  before  he  could 
rise  and  stand  on  his  feet  and  reach  the  can 
dle.  Slowly  he  felt  his  way  along  the  wall  until 
he  came  to  a  low,  heavy  door,  barred  from  the 
outside,  and  just  beyond  this  door  he  found 
a  narrow  aperture  cut  through  the  de<jaying 
logs.  It  was  a  yard  in  length  and  barely  wide 
enough  for  him  to  thrust  through  an  arm. 


JEAN'S    STORY 

Three  more  of  these  narrow  slits  in  his  prison 
walls  he  found  before  he  came  back  again  to  the 
door.  They  reminded  him  of  the  hole  through 
which  he  had  looked  out  on  the  plague-stricken 
cabin  at  the  Maison  de  Mort  Rouge,  and  he 
guessed  that  through  them  came  what  little 
fresh  air  found  its  way  into  the  dungeon. 

Near  the  table  on  which  he  replaced  the  candle 
was  a  stool,  and  he  sat  down.  Carefully  he  went 
through  his  pockets.  His  belt  and  revolver  were 
gone.  He  had  been  stripped  of  letters  and  pa 
pers.  Not  so  much  as  a  match  had  been  left 
him  by  his  captors. 

He  stopped  in  his  search  and  listened.  Faintly 
there  came  to  him  the  ticking  of  his  watch.  He 
felt  in  his  watch  pocket.  It  was  empty.  Again 
he  listened.  This  time  he  was  sure  that  the  sound 
came  from  his  feet  and  he  lowered  the  candle 
until  the  light  of  it  glistened  on  something  yel 
low  an  arm's  distance  away.  It  was  his  watch, 
and  close  beside  it  lay  his  leather  wallet.  What 
money  he  had  carried  in  the  pocketbook  was  un- 
265 


THE   DANGER    TRAIL 

touched t  but  his  personal  cards  and  half  a  dozen 
papers  that  it  had  contained  were  gone. 

He  looked  at  the  time.  The  hour  hand  pointed 
Ijo  four.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  been  uncon- 
Bcious  for  more  than  six  hours?  He  had  left 
clean  on  the  mountain  top  soon  after  nightfall — 
it  was  not  later  than  nine  o'clock  when  he  had 
seen  Meleese.  Seven  hours !  Again  he  lifted  his 
hands  to  his  head.  His  hair  was  stiff  and  matted 
with  blood.  It  had  congealed  thickly  on  his 
cheek  and  neck  and  had  soaked  the  top  of  his 
coat.  He  had  bled  a  great  deal,  so  much  that 
he  wondered  he  was  alive,  and  yet  during  those 
hours  his  captors  had  given  him  no  assistance, 
had  not  even  bound  a  cloth  about  his  head. 

Did  they  believe  that  the  shot  had  killed  him, 

that  he  was  already  dead  when  they  flung  him 

Into  the  dungeon  ?  Or  was  this  only  one  other  in- 

itance  of  the  barbaric  brutishness  of  those  who  so 

.nsistently  sought  his  life?    The  fighting  blood 

rose  in  him  with  returning  strength.     If  they 

had  left  him  a  weapon,  even  the  small  knife  they 

266 


JEAN'S    STORY 

had  taken  from  his  pocket,  he  would  still  make 
an  effort  to  settle  a  last  score  or  two.  But  now 
he  was  helpless. 

There  was,  however,  a  ray  of  hope  in  the  pos* 
sibility  that  they  believed  him  dead.  If  they  who 
had  flung  him  into  the  dungeon  believed  this>  then 
he  was  safe  for  several  hours.  No  one  would  come 
for  his  body  until  broad  day,  and  possibly  not 
until  the  following  night,  when  a  grave  could  be 
dug  and  he  could  be  carried  out  with  some  secrecy. 
Irs  that  time,  if  he  could  escape  from  his  prison, 
he  would  be  well  on  his  way  to  the  Wekusko. 
He  had  no  doubt  that  Jean  was  still  a  prisoner 
on  the  mountain  top.  The  dogs  and  sledge  were 
there  and  both  rifles  were  where  he  had  con 
cealed  them.  It  would  be  a  hard  race — a  run 
ning  fight  perhaps — but  he  would  win,  and  after 
a  time  Meleese  would  come  to  him,  away  down 
at  the  little  hotel  on  the  Saskatchewan. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  his  blood  growing  warm, 
his  eyes  shining  in  the  candle-light.  The 
thought  of  the  girl  as  she  had  come  to  him  out 
267 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

in  the  night  put  back  into  him  all  of  his  old 
fighting  strength,  all  of  his  unconquerable  hope 
and  confidence.  She  had  followed  him  when  the 
dog  yelped  at  his  heels,  as  the  first  shots  had 
been  fired ;  she  had  knelt  beside  him  in  the  snow 
as  he  lay  bleeding  at  the  feet  of  his  enemies.  He 
had  heard  her  voice  calling  to  him,  had  felt  the 
thrilling  touch  of  her  arms,  the  terror  and  love 
of  her  lips  as  she  thought  him  dying.  She  had 
given  herself  to  him ;  and  she  would  come  to  him 
— his  lady  of  the  snows — if  he  could  escape. 

He  went  to  the  door  and  shoved  against  it  with 
his  shoulder.  It  was  immovable.  Again  he  thrust 
his  hand  and  arm  through  the  first  of  the  narrow 
ventilating  apertures.  The  wood  with  which  his 
fingers  came  in  contact  was  rotting  from  moisture 
and  age  and  he  found  that  he  could  tear  out 
handf uls  of  it.  He  fell  to  work,  digging  with  the 
fierce  eagerness  of  an  animal.  At  the  rate  the 
soft  pulpy  wood  gave  way  he  could  win  his  free 
dom  long  before  the  earliest  risers  at  the  post 
were  awake. 

268 


JEAN'S    STORY 

A  sound  stopped  him,  a  hollow  cough  from  out 
of  the  blackness  beyond  the  dungeon  wall.  It 
was  followed  an  instant  later  by  a  gleam  of  light 
and  Howland  darted  quickly  back  to  the  table. 
He  heard  the  slipping  of  a  bolt  outside  the  door 
and  it  flashed  on  him  then  that  he  should  have 
thrown  himself  back  into  his  old  position  on  the 
floor.  It  was  too  late  for  this  action  now.  The 
door  swung  open  and  a  shaft  of  light  shot  into 
the  chamber.  For  a  space  Howland  was  blinded 
by  it  and  it  was  not  until  the  bearer  of  the  lamp 
had  advanced  half-way  to  the  table  that  he  recog 
nized  his  visitor  as  Jean  Croisset.  The  French 
man's  face  was  wild  and  haggard.  His  eyes 
gleamed  red  and  bloodshot  as  he  stared  at  the 
engineer. 

"Mon  Dieu,  I  had  hoped  to  find  you  dead," 
he  whispered  huskily. 

He  reached  up  to  hang  the  big  oil  lamp  he 
carried  to  a  hook  in  the  log  ceiling,  and  How- 
land  sat  amazed  at  the  expression  on  his  face. 
Jean's  great  eyes  gleamed  like  living  coals  from 
269 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

out  of  a  death-mask.  Either  fear  or  pain  had 
wrought  deep  lines  in  his  face.  His  hands 
trembled  as  he  steadied  the  lamp.  The  few  hours 
that  had  passed  since  Howland  had  left  him  a 
prisoner  on  the  mountain  top  had  transformed 
him  into  an  old  man.  Even  his  shoulders  were 
hunched  forward  with  an  air  of  weakness  and 
despair  as  he  turned  from  the  lamp  to  the  en 
gineer. 

"I  had  hoped  to  find  you  dead,  M'seur,'*  ue  re 
peated  in  a  voice  so  low  it  could  not  have  been 
heard  beyond  the  door.  "That  is  why  I  did  not 
bind  your  wound  and  give  you  water  when  they 
turned  you  over  to  my  care.  I  wanted  you  to 
bleed  to  death.  It  would  have  been  easier — for 
both  of  us." 

From  under  the  table  he  drew  forth  a  second 
stool  and  sat  down  opposite  Howland.  The  two 
pen  stared  at  each  other  over  the  sputtering  rem 
nant  of  the  candle.  Before  the  engineer  had 
recovered  from  his  astonishment  at  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be 
270 


JEAN'S    STORY 

safely  imprisoned  in  the  old  cabin,  Croisset'g 
swifting  eyes  fell  on  the  mass  of  torn  wood  under 
Hie  aperture. 

'"Too  late,  M'seur,"  he  said  meaningly.  "They 
are  waiting  up  there  now.  It  is  impossible  for 
you  to  escape." 

"That  is  what  I  thought  about  you,"  replied 
Rowland,  forcing  himself  to  speak  coolly.  "How 
did  you  manage  it?" 

"They  came  up  to  free  me  soon  after  they  got 
you,  M'seur.  I  am  grateful  to  you  .for  thinking 
of  me,  for  if  you  had  not  told  them  I  might  have 
stayed  there  and  starved  like  a  beast  in  a  trap." 

"It  was  Meleese,"  said  Howland.  "I  told  her." 

Jean  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"I  have  just  come  from  Meleese,"  he  whis 
pered  softly.  "She  sends  you  her  love,  M'seur, 
and  tells  you  not  to  give  up  hope.  The  great 
God,  if  she  only  knew — if  she  only  knew  what  ii 
about  to  happen!  No  one  has  told  her.  She  is 
a  prisoner  in  her  room,  and  after  that — after 
that  out  on  the  plain — when  she  came  to  you  and 
271 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

fought  like  one  gone  mad  to  save  you — they  wifl 
not  give  her  freedom  until  all  is  over.  What  time 
is  it,  M'seur?" 

A  clammy  chill  passed  over  Rowland  as  he 
read  the  time. 

"Half-past  four." 

The  Frenchman  shivered;  his  fingers  clasped 
and  unclasped  nervously  as  he  leaned  nearer  his 
companion. 

"The  Virgin  bear  me  witness  that  I  wish  I 
might  strike  ten  years  off  my  life  and  give  you 
freedom,"  he  breathed  quickly.  "I  would  do  it 
this  instant,  M'seur.  I  would  help  you  to  escapts 
if  it  were  in  any  way  possible.  But  they  are  in 
the  room  at  the  head  of  the  stair — waiting.  4t 
six—" 

Something  seemed  to  choke  him  and  he 
stopped. 

"At  six — what  then?"  urged  Howland.  "My 
God,  man,  what  makes  you  look  so?  What  is  to 
happen  at  six?" 

Jean  stiffened.  A  flash  of  the  old  fire  gleamed 
272 


JEAN'S    STORY 

in  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  was  steady  and  cleaf 
when  he  spoke  again. 

"I  have  no  time  to  lose  in  further  talk  like  this, 
M'seur,"  he  said  almost  harshly.  "They  know 
now  that  it  was  I  who  fought  for  you  and  for 
Meleese  on  the  Great  North  Trail.  They  know 
that  it  is  I  who  saved  you  at  Wekusko.  Meleese 
can  no  more  save  me  than  she  can  save  you,  and 
to  make  my  task  a  little  harder  they  have  made 
me  their  messenger,  and — " 

Again  he  stopped,  choking  for  words. 

"What?"  insisted  Howland,  leaning  toward 
him,  his  face  as  white  as  the  tallow  in  the  little 
dish  on  the  table. 

"Their  executioner,  M'seur." 

With  his  hands  gripped  tightly  on  the  table 
in  front  of  him  Jack  Howland  sat  as  rigid  as 
though  an  electric  shock  had  passed  through 
him. 

"Great  God !"  he  gasped. 

"First  I  am  to  tell  you  a  story,  M'seur,"  con 
tinued  Croisset,  leveling  his  reddened  eyes  tc  the 
273 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

engineer's.  "It  will  not  be  long,  and  I  pray  the 
Virgin  to  make  you  understand  it  as  we  people 
of  the  North  understand  it.  It  begins  sixteer 
years  ago." 

"I  shall  understand,  Jean,"  whispered  How- 
land.  "Goon." 

"It  was  at  one  of  the  company's  posts  that  it 
happened,"  Jean  began,  "and  the  story  has  to  do 
with  Le  M'seur,  the  Factor,  and  his  wife,  L'Ange 
Blanc — that  is  what  she  was  called,  M'seur — the 
White  Angel.  M on  Dieu,  how  we  loved  her !  Not 
with  a  wicked  love,  M'seur,  but  with  something 
very  near  to  that  which  we  give  our  Blessed  Vir 
gin.  And  our  love  was  but  a  pitiful  thing  when 
compared  with  the  love  of  these  two,  each  for 
the  other.  She  was  beautiful,  gloriously  beauti 
ful  as  we  know  women  up  in  the  big  snows ;  like 
Meleese,  who  was  the  youngest  of  their  children. 

"Ours  was  the  happiest  post  in  all  this  greaf 

northland,  M'seur,"  continued  Croisset  after  a 

moment's  pause ;  "and  it  was  all  because  of  this 

woman  and  the  man,  but  mostly  because  of  the 

274 


JEAN'S    STORY 

won,.**..  And  when  the  little  Meleese  came — she 
was  the  first  white  girl  baby  that  any  of  us  had 
;ver  seen — our  love  for  these  two  became  some 
thing  that  I  fear  was  almost  a  sacrilege  to  our 
dear  Lady  of  God.  Perhaps  you  can  not  under 
stand  such  a  love,  M'seur ;  I  know  that  it  can  not 
be  understood  down  in  that  world  which  you  call 
civilization,  for  I  have  been  there  and  have  seen. 
We  would  have  died  for  the  little  Meleese,  and 
the  other  Meleese,  her  mother.  And  also,  M'seur. 
we  would  have  killed  our  own  brothers  had  they 
as  much  as  spoken  a  word  against  them  or  cast 
at  the  mother  even  as  much  as  a  look  which  was 
not  the  purest.  That  is  how  we  loved  her  sixteen 
years  ago  this  winter,  M'seur,  and  that  is  how 
we  love  her  memory  still." 

"She  is  dead,"  uttered  Howland,  forgetting  in 
these  tense  moments  the  significance  Jean's  story 
might  hold  for  him. 

"Yes ;  she  is  dead.  M'seur,  shall  I  tell  you  hoitf 
she  died?" 

Croisset  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  flashing, 
275 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

his  lithe  body  twitching  like  a  wolfs  as  he  stood 
for  an  instant  half  leaning  over  the  engineer. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  how  she  died,  M'seur?"  h< 
repeated,  falling  back  on  his  stool,  his  long  arms 
stretched  over  the  table.  "It  happened  like  this, 
sixteen  years  ago,  when  the  little  Meleese  was 
four  years  old  and  the  oldest  of  the  three  sons 
was  fourteen.  That  winter  a  man  and  his  boy 
came  up  from  Churchill.  He  had  letters  from  the 
Factor  at  the  Bay,  and  our  Factor  and  his  wife 
opened  their  doors  to  him  and  to  his  son,  and 
gave  them  all  that  it  was  in  their  power  to  give. 

"Mon  Dieu,  this  man  was  from  that  glorious 
civilization  of  yours,  M'seur — from  that  land  to 
the  south  where  they  say  that  Christ's  temples 
stand  on  every  four  corners,  but  he  could  not  un 
derstand  the  strange  God  and  the  strange  laws  of 
our  people !  For  months  he  had  been  away  from 
the  companionship  of  women,  and  in  this  greai 
wilderness  the  Factor's  wife  came  into  his  life  as 
the  flower  blossoms  in  the  desert.  Ah,  M'seur,  I 
can  see  now  how  his  wicked  heart  strove  to  ac- 
276 


JEAN'S    STORY 

complish  the  things,  and  how  he  failed  because 
the  glory  of  our  womanhood  up  here  has  come 
straight  down  from  Heaven.  And  in  failing  he 
went  mad — mad  with  that  passion  of  the  race  I 
have  seen  in  Montreal,  and  then — ah,  the  Great 
God,  M'seur,  do  you  not  understand  what  hap 
pened  next  ?" 

Croisset  lifted  his  head,  his  face  twisted  in  a 
torture  that  was  half  grief,  half  madness,  and 
stared  at  Howland,  with  quivering  nostrils  and 
heaving  chest.  In  his  companion's  face  he  saw 
only  a  dead  white  pallor  of  waiting,  of  half  com 
prehension.  He  leaned  over  the  table  again,  con 
trolling  himself  by  a  mighty  effort. 

"It  was  at  that  time  when  most  of  us  were  out 
among  the  trappers,  just  before  our  big  spring 
caribou  roast,  when  the  forest  people  came  in 
with  their  furs,  M'seur.  The  post  was  almost  de 
serted.  Do  you  understand?  The  woman  was 
alone  in  her  cabin  with  the  little  Meleese — and 
when  we  came  back  at  night  she  was  dead.  Yes, 
M'seur,  she  killed  herself,  leaving  a  few  written 
277 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 
to  the  Factor  telling  him  what  had  hap- 


"The  man  and  the  boy  escaped  on  a  sledge 
after  the  crime.  Mon  Dieu,  how  the  forest  people 
leaped  in  pursuit  !  Runners  carried  the  word  ovei 
the  mountains  and  through  the  swamps,  and  a 
hundred  sledge  parties  searched  the  forest  trails 
for  the  man-fiend  and  his  son.  It  was  the  Factor 
himself  and  his  youngest  boy  who  found  them, 
far  out  on  the  Churchill  trail.  And  what  hap 
pened  then,  M'seur?  Just  this:  While  the  man- 
fiend  urged  on  his  dogs  the  son  fired  back  with  a 
riflefc  and  one  of  his  bullets  went  straight  through 
the  heart  of  the  pursuing  Factor,  so  that  in  the 
space  of  one  day  and  one  night  the  little  Meleese 
was  made  both  motherless  and  fatherless  by  these 
two  whom  the  devil  had  sent  to  destroy  the  most 
beautiful  thing  we  have  ever  known  in  this 
North.  Ah,  M'seur,  you  turn  white!  Does  it 
bring  a  vision  to  you  now?  Do  you  hear  the 
crack  of  that  rifle  ?  Can  you  see  —  " 

"My  God!"  gasped  Rowland.  Even  now  h» 
278 


JEAN'S    STORY 

understood  nothing  of  what  this  tragedy  jnighi 
mean  to  him — forgot  everything  but  that  he  was 
listening  to  the  terrible  tragedy  that  had  come 
to  the  woman  who  was  the  mother  of  the  girl  he 
loved.  He  half  rose  from  his  seat  as  Croisset 
paused;  his  eyes  glittered,  his  death-white  face 
was  set  in  tense  fierce  lines,  his  finger-nails  dug 
into  the  board  table,  as  he  demanded,  "What 
happened  then,  Croisset?" 

Jean  was  eying  him  like  an  animal.  His  voice 
was  low. 

"They  escaped,  M'seur." 

With  a  deep  breath  Howland  sank  back.  In  a 
moment  he  leaned  again  toward  Jean  as  he  saw 
come  into  the  Frenchman's  eyes  a  slumbering  fire 
that  a  few  seconds  later  blazed  into  vengeful  ma 
lignity  when  he  drew  slowly  from  an  inside 
pocket  of  his  coat  a  small  parcel  wrapped  and 
tied  in  soft  buckskin. 

"They  have  sent  you  this,  M'seur,"  he  said. 
"  'At  the  very  last,'  they  told  me,  'let  him  read 
this.' " 

279 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

With  his  eyes  on  the  parcel,  scarcely  breath 
ing,  Rowland  waited  while  with  exasperating 
slowness  Croisset's  brown  fingers  untied  the  cord 
that  secured  it. 

"First  you  must  understand  what  this  meant 
to  us  in  the  North,  M'seur,"  said  Jean,  his  hands 
covering  the  parcel  after  he  had  finished  with  the 
cord.  "We  are  different  who  live  up  here — differ 
ent  from  those  who  live  in  Montreal,  and  beyond. 
With  us  a  lifetime  is  not  too  long  to  spend  in 
avenging  a  cruel  wrong.  It  is  our  honor  of  the 
North.  I  was  fifteen  then,  and  had  been  fostered 
by  the  Factor  and  his  wife  since  the  day  my 
mother  died  of  the  smallpox  and  I  dragged  my 
self  into  the  post,  almost  dead  of  starvation.  So 
it  happened  that  I  was  like  a  brother  to  Meleese 
and  the  other  three.  The  years  passed,  and  the 
desire  for  vengeance  grew  in  us  as  we  became 
older,  until  it  was  the  one  thing  that  we  most  de 
sired  in  life,  even  filling  the  gentle  heart  of  Me- 
ieese,  whom  we  sent  to  school  in  Montreal  when 
she  was  eleven,  M'seur.  It  was  three  years  later 
280 


JEAN'S    STORY 

'-Awhile  she  was  still  in  Montreal — that  I  went 
oii  one  of  my  wandering  searches  to  a  post  at  the 
head  of  the  Great  Slave,  and  there,  M'seur— 
there—" 

Croisset  had  risen.  His  long  arms  were 
stretched  high,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  up 
turned  face  aflame  with  a  passion  that  was  al 
most  that  of  prayer. 

"M'seur,  I  thank  the  great  God  in  Heaveii 
that  it  was  given  to  Jean  Croisset  to  meet  one  of 
those  whom  we  had  pledged  our  lives  to  find — and 
I  slew  him !" 

He  stood  silent,  eyes  partly  closed,  still  as  if  in 
prayer.  When  he  sank  into  his  chair  again  the 
look  of  hatred  had  gone  from  his  face. 

"It  was  the  father,  and  I  killed  him,  M'seur — 
killed  him  slowly,  telling  him  of  what  he  had  done 
as  I  choked  the  life  from  him ;  and  then,  a  littl* 
at  a  time,  I  let  the  life  back  into  him,  forcing  hint 
to  tell  me  where  I  would  find  his  son,  the  slayer  of 
Meleese's  father.  And  after  that  I  closed  on  his 
throat  until  he  was  dead,  and  my  dogs  dragged 
28T 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

his  body  through  three  hundred  miles  of  snow 
that  the  others  might  look  on  him  and  know  that 
be  was  dead.  That  was  six  years  ago,  M'seur." 

Rowland  was  scarcely  breathing. 

"And  the  other — the  son — "  he  whispered 
tensely.  "You  found  him,  Croisset?  You  killed 
him?" 

**What  would  you  have  done,  M'seur  ?" 

Rowland's  hands  gripped  those  that  guarded 
the  little  parcel. 

"I  would  have  killed  him,  Jean." 

He  spoke  slowly,  deliberately. 

"I  would  have  killed  him,"  he  repeated. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  M'seur." 

Jean  was  unwrapping  the  buckskin,  fold  after 
fold  of  it,  until  at  last  there  was  revealed  a  roll 
of  paper,  soiled  and  yellow  along  the  edges. 

"These  pages  are  taken  from  the  day-book  at 
the  post  where  the  woman  lived,"  he  explained 
joftly,  smoothing  them  under  his  hands.  "Each 
day  the  Factor  of  a  post  keeps  a  reckoning  of 
incidents  as  they  pass,  as  I  have  heard  that  sea 
282 


JEAN'S    STORY 

captains  do  on  shipboard.  It  has  been  a  com 
pany  law  for  hundreds  of  years.  We  have  kept 
these  pages  to  ourselves,  M'seur.  They  tell  of 
v^hat  happened  at  our  post  sixteen  years  ago  this 
winter." 

As  he  spoke  the  half-breed  came  to  Howland7** 
side,  smoothing  vhe  first  page  on  the  table  in 
front  of  him,  hia  blim  forefinger  pointing  to  the 
first  few  lines. 

• 

"They  came  on  this  day,"  he  said,  his  breath 
close  to  the  engineer's  ear.  "These  are  their 
names,  M'seur — the  najftes  of  the  two  who  de 
stroyed  the  paradise  that  our  Blessed  Lady  gave 
to  us  many  years  ago." 

In  an  instant  Rowland  kad  read  the  lines.  His 
blood  seemed  to  dry  in  his  veins  and  his  heart  to 
stand  still.  For  these  were  the  words  he  read; 
"On  this  day  there  came  to  our  post,  from  the 
Churchill  way,  John  Howland  and  his  son." 

With  a  sharp  cry  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  over 
turning  the  stool,  facing  Croisset,  his  hands 
clenched,  his  lr»dy  bent  as  if  about  to  spring. 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

Jean  stood  calmly,  his  white  teeth  agleam.  Then, 
slowly,  he  stretched  out  a  hand. 

"M'seur  John  Rowland,  will  you  read  what 
happened  to  the  father  and  mother  of  the  little 
Meleese  sixteen  years  ago?  Will  you  read,  and 
understand  why  your  life  was  sought  on  the 
Great  North  Trail,  why  you  were  placed  on  a 
case  of  dynamite  in  the  Wekusko  coyote,  and 
why,  with  the  coming  of  this  morning's  dawn — 
at  six—" 

He  paused,  shivering.  Rowland  seemed  not  to 
notice  the  tremendous  effort  Croisset  was  making 
to  control  himself.  With  the  dazed  speechless- 
ness  of  one  recovering  from  a  sudden  blow  he 
turned  to  the  table  and  bent  over  the  papers  that 
the  Frenchman  had  laid  out  before  him.  Five 
minutes  later  he  raised  his  head.  His  face  was  as 
white  as  chalk.  Deep  lines  had  settled  about  his 
mouth.  As  a  sick  man  might,  he  lifted  his  hand 
and  passed  it  over  his  face  and  through  his  hair. 
But  his  eves  were  afire.  Involuntarily  Jean's  body 
gathered  itself  as  if  to  meet  attack. 
284 


JEAN'S    STORY 

*'I  have  read  it,"  he  said  huskily,  as  though  the 
speaking  of  the  words  caused  him  a  great  effort. 
"I  understand  now.  My  name  is  John  Rowland, 
And  my  father's  name  was  John  Howland.  I  un 
derstand." 

There  was  silence,  in  which  the  eyes  of  the  two 
men  met. 

"I  understand,"  repeated  the  engineer,  ad 
vancing  a  step.  "And  you,  Jean  Croisset — do 
you  believe  that  I  am  that  John  Howland — the 
John  Howland — the  son  who — " 

He  stopped,  waiting  for  Jean  to  comprehend, 
to  speak. 

"M'seur,  it  makes  no  difference  what  I  believe 
now.  I  have  but  one  other  thing  to  tell  you  here 
— and  one  thing  to  give  to  you,"  replied  Jean. 
"Those  who  have  tried  to  kill  you  are  the  three 
brothers.  Meleese  is  their  sister.  Ours  is  a 
strange  country,  M'seur,  governed  since  the  be 
ginning  of  our  time  by  laws  which  we  have  mad« 
ourselves.  To  those  who  are  waiting  above  no 
torture  is  too  great  for  you.  They  have  con- 
285 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

demned  you  to  death.  This  morning,  exactly  as 
the  minute  hand  of  your  watch  counts  off  the 
hour  of  six,  you  will  be  shot  to  death  through 
one  of  these  holes  in  the  dungeon  walls.  And 
this — this  note  from  Meleese — is  the  last  thing  I 
have  to  give  you." 

He  dropped  a  folded  bit  of  paper  on  the  table. 
Mechanically  Rowland  reached  for  it.  Stunned 
and  speechless,  cold  with  the  horror  of  his  death 
sentence,  he  smoothed  out  the  note.  There  were 
only  a  few  words,  apparently  written  in  great 
haste. 

"I  have  been  praying  for  you  all  night.  If 
God  fails  to  answer  my  prayers  I  will  still  do  as 
I  have  promised — and  follow  you. 

"MELEESE." 

He  heard  a  movement  and  lifted  his  eyes.  Jean 
was  gone.  The  door  was  swinging  slowly  in 
ward.  He  heard  the  wooden  bolt  slip  into  place, 
and  after  that  there  was  not  even  the  sound  of  a 
moccasined  foot  stealing  through  the  outer  dark 
ness. 

288 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MELEESE 

FOR  many  minutes  Rowland  stood  waiting  a8 
if  life  had  left  him.  His  eyes  were  on  the 
door,  but  unseeing.  He  made  no  sound,  no  move 
ment  again  toward  the  aperture  in  the  wall.  Fate 
had  dealt  him  the  final  blow,  and  when  at  last 
he  rocsed  himself  from  its  first  terrible  effect 
there  remained  no  glimmering  of  hope  in  his 
breast,  no  thought  of  the  battle  he  had  been  mak 
ing  for  freedom  a  short  time  before.  The  note 
fluttered  from  his  fingers  and  he  drew  his  watch 
from  his  pocket  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  It  was 
a  quarter  after  five.  There  still  remained  forty- 
five  minutes. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  and  then — death. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  this  time.   Evei 

in  the  coyote,  with  eternity  staring  him  in  the 

face,  he  had  hoped  and  fought  for  life.  But  here 

287 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

there  was  no  hope,  there  was  to  be  no  fighting. 
Through  one  of  the  black  holes  in  the  wall  he  was 
to  be  shot  down,  with  no  chance  to  defend  him 
self,  to  prove  himself  innocent.  And  Meleese — 
did  she,  too,  believe  him  guilty  of  that  crime  ? 

He  groaned  aloud,  and  picked  up  the  note 
again.  Softly  he  repeated  her  last  words  to  him : 
"Tr  God  fails  to  answer  my  prayers  I  will  still  do 
as  I  have  promised,  and  follow  you."  Those 
words  seemed  to  cry  aloud  his  doom.  Even  Me 
leese  had  given  up  hope.  And  yet,  was  there  not 
a  deeper  significance  in  her  words  ?  He  started  as 
if  some  one  had  struck  him,  his  eyes  agleam. 

"7  will  follow  you.'  " 

He  almost  sobbed  the  words  this  time.  His 
hands  trembled  and  he  dropped  the  paper  again 
on  the  table  and  turned  his  eyes  in  staring  horror 
toward  the  door.  What  did  she  mean?  Would 
Meleese  kill  herself  if  he  was  murdered  by  her 
brothers?  He  could  see  no  other  meaning  in  her 
last  message  to  him,  and  for  a  time  after  the 
chilling  significance  of  her  words  struck  his  heart 
288 


MELEESE 

hi  scarce  restrained  himself  from  calling  aloud 
for  Jean.  If  he  could  but  send  a  word  back  to 
her,  tell  her  once  more  of  his  great  love — that 
the  winning  of  that  love  was  ample  reward  for  all 
that  he  had  lost  and  was  about  to  lose,  and  that  it 
gave  him  such  happiness  as  he  had  never  known 
even  in  this  last  hour  of  his  torture ! 

Twice  he  shouted  for  Croisset,  but  there  came 
no  response  save  the  hollow  echoings  of  his  own 
voice  in  the  subterranean  chambers.  After  that 
he  began  to  think  more  sanely.  If  Meleese  was  a 
prisoner  in  her  room  it  was  probable  that  Crois 
set,  who  was  now  fully  recognized  as  a  traitor  at 
the  post,  could  no  longer  gain  access  to  her.  In 
some  secret  way  Meleese  had  contrived  to  give 
him  the  note,  and  he  had  performed  his  last  mis 
sion  for  her. 

In  Rowland's  breast  there  grew  slowly  a  feel 
ing  of  sympathy  for  the  Frenchman.  Much  that 
he  had  not  understood  was  clear  to  him  now.  He 
understood  why  Meleese  had  not  revealed  the 
names  of  his  assailants  at  Prince  Albert  and  We- 
289 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

KO  '  Jbe  understood  why  she  had  fled  from  hi 
after  hk  abduction,  and  why  Jean  had  so  faith 
fully  kept  secrecy  for  her  sake.  She  had  foughl 
to  save  him  from  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  am 
Jean  had  fought  to  save  him,  and  in  these  last 
minutes  of  his  life  he  would  liked  to  have  had 
Croisset  with  him  that  he  might  have  taken  hie 
hand  and  thanked  him  for  what  he  had  done. 
And  because  he  had  fought  for  him  and  Meleese 
the  Frenchman's  fate  was  to  be  almost  as  terrible 
as  his  own.  It  was  he  who  would  fire  the  fatal 
shot  at  six  o'clock.  Not  the  brothers,  but  Jean 
Croisset,  would  be  his  executioner  and  murderer. 
The  minutes  passed  swiftly,  and  as  they  went 
Howland  was  astonished .  to  find  how  coolly  he 
awaited  the  end.  He  even  began  to  debate  with 
himself  as  to  through  which  hole  the  fatal  shof 
would  be  fired.  No  matter  where  he  stood  he  was 
in  the  light  of  the  big  hanging  lamp.  There  wa 
no  obscure  or  shadowy  corner  in  which  for  a  few 
moments  he  might  elude  his  executioner.  He 
even  smiled  when  the  thought  occurred  tn  hjn> 
290 


MELEESE 

tJiat  it  was  possible  to  extinguish  the  light  and 
crawl  under  the  table,  thus  gaining  a  momentary 
delay.  But  what  would  that  delay  avail  him?  He 
was  anxious  for  the  fatal  minute  to  arrive,  and 
be  over. 

There  were  moments  of  happiness  when  in 
the  damp  horror  of  his  death-chamber  there 
came  before  him  visions  of  Meleese,  grown  even 
sweeter  and  more  lovable,  now  that  he  knew  how 
she  had  sacrificed  herself  between  two  great  loves 
— the  love  of  her  own  people  and  the  love  of  him 
self.  And  at  last  she  had  surrendered  to  him. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  could  have  made  that 
surrender  if  she,  like  her  brothers,  believed  him 
to  be  the  murderer  of  her  father — the  son  of  the 
man-fiend  who  had  robbed  her  of  a  mother?  It 
was  impossible,  he  told  himself.  She  did  not  be- 
ilieve  him  guilty.  And  yet — why  had  she  not 
given  him  some  such  word  in  her  last  message 
to  him? 

His  eyes  traveled  to  the  note  on  the  table  and 
Ihe  began  searching  in  his  coat  pockets.  In  one  of 
291 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

them  he  found  the  worn  stub  of  a  pencil,  and  for 
many  minutes  after  that  he  was  oblivious  to  the 
passing  of  time  as  he  wrote  his  last  words  to 
Meleese.  When  he  had  finished  he  folded  the  pa 
per  and  placed  it  under  his  watch.  At  the  finaJ 
moment,  before  the  shot  was  fired,  he  would  asl 
Jean  to  take  it.  His  eyes  fell  on  his  watch  dial 
and  a  cry  burst  from  his  lips. 

It  lacked  but  ten  minutes  of  the  final  hour ! 

Above  him  he  heard  faintly  the  sharp  barking 
of  dogs,  the  hollow  sound  of  men's  voices.  A 
moment  later  there  came  to  him  an  echo  as  of 
swiftly  tramping  feet,  and  after  that  silence. 

"Jean,"  he  called  tensely.  "Ho,  Jean — Jean 
Croisset— " 

He  caught  up  the  paper  and  ran  from  one 
black  opening  to  another,  calling  the  French 
man's  name. 

"As  you  love  your  God,  Jean,  as  you  have  t 
hope  of  Heaven,  take  this  note  to  Meleese!"  ht 
pleaded.  "Jean — Jean  Croisset — " 

There  came  no  answer,  no  movement  outside, 
292 


MELEESE 

and  Rowland  stilled  the  beating  of  his  heart  to 
listen.  Surely  Croisset  was  there!  He  looked 
*gain  at  the  watch  he  held  in  his  hand.  In  four 
minutes  the  shot  would  be  fired.  A  cold  sweat 
bathed  hik  face.  He  tried  to  cry  out  again,  but 
something  rose  in  his  throat  and  choked  him  until 
his  voice  was  only  a  gasp.  He  sprang  back  to  the 
table  and  placed  the  note  once  more  under  the 
watch.  Two  minutes !  One  and  a  half !  One ! 

With  a  sudden  fearless  cry  he  sprang  into  the 
very  center  of  his  prison,  and  flung  out  his  arms 
feith  his  face  to  the  hole  next  the  door.  This  time 
nis  ^oice  was  almost  a  shout. 

"Jean  Croisset,  there  is  a  note  under  my  watch 
on  the  table.  After  you  have  killed  me  take  it  to 
Meleese.  If  you  fail  I  shall  haunt  you  to  your 
grave !" 

Still  no  sound — no  gleam  of  steel  pointing  at 
aim  through  the  black  aperture.  Would  the  shot 
come  from  behind? 

Tick — tick — tick — tick — 

He  counted  the  beating  of  his  watch  up  to 
293 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

twenty,,  A  sound  stopped  him  then,  and  he  closed 
his  eyes,  and  a  great  shiver  passed  through  his 
body. 

It  was  the  tiny  bell  of  his  watch  tinkling  ofl 
the  hour  of  six ! 

Scarcely  had  that  sound  ceased  to  ring  in  hii 
brain  when  from  far  through  the  darkness  be 
yond  the  wall  of  his  prison  there  came  a  creaking 
noise,  as  if  a  heavy  door  had  been  swung  slowly 
on  its  hinges,  or  a  trap  opened — then  voices,  low, 
quick,  excited  voices,  the  hurrying  tread  of  feet, 
a  flash  of  light  shooting  through  the  gloom. 
They  were  coming !  After  all  it  was  not  to  be  a 
private  affair,  and  Jean  was  to  do  his  killing  as 
the  hangman's  job  is  done  in  civilization — before 
a  crowd.  Rowland's  arms  dropped  to  his  side. 
This  was  more  terrible  than  the  other — this  see 
ing  and  hearing  of  preparation,  in  which  he  fan 
cied  that  he  heard  the  click  of  Croisset's  gun  a) 
he  lifted  the  hammer. 

Instead  it  was  a  hand  fumbling  at  the  door. 
There  were  no  voices  now,  only  a  strange  moan- 
294 


MELEESE 

ing  sound  that  he  could  not  account  for.  In  an* 
other  moment  it  was  made  clear  to  him.  The  door 
swung  open,  and  the  white-robed  figure  of  Me- 
icese  sprang  toward  him  with  a  cry  that  echoed 
through  the  dungeon  chambers.  What  happened 
then — the  passing  of  white  faces  beyond  the 
doorway,  the  subdued  murmur  of  voices,  were  all 
lost  to  Howland  in  the  knowledge  that  at  the  last 
moment  they  had  let  her  come  to  him,  that  he  held 
her  in  his  arms,  and  that  she  was  crushing  her 
face  to  his  breast  and  sobbing  things  to  him 
which  he  could  not  understand.  Once  or  twice  in 
his  life  he  had  wondered  if  realities  might  not  be 
dreams,  and  the  thought  came  to  him  now  when 
he  felt  the  warmth  of  her  hands,  her  face,  her 
hair,  and  then  the  passionate  pressure  of  her  lips 
on  his  own.  He  lifted  his  eyes,  and  in  the  door 
way  he  saw  Jean  Croisset,  and  behind  him  a  wild, 
bearded  face — the  face  that  had  been  over  him 
tfhen  life  was  almost  choked  from  him  on  the 
Great  North  Trail.  And  beyond  these  two  he 
saw  still  others,  shining  ghostly  and  indistinct  in 
295 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

the  deeper  gloom  of  the  outer  darkness.  He 
strained  Meleese  to  him,  and  when  he  looked  down 
into  her  face  he  saw  her  beautiful  eyes  flooded 
with  tears,  and  yet  shining  with  a  great  joy.  Hei 
lips  trembled  as  she  struggled  to  speak.  Ther 
suddenly  she  broke  from  his  arms  and  ran  tc 
the  door,  and  Jean  Croisset  came  between  them, 
with  the  wild  bearded  man  still  staring  over  his 
shoulder. 

"M'seur,  will  you  come  with  us  ?"  said  Jean. 

The  bearded  man  dropped  back  into  the  thick 
gloom,  and  without  speaking  Rowland  fallowed 
Croisset,  his  eyes  on  the  shadowy  form  of  Me 
leese.  The  ghostly  faces  turned  from  the  light, 
and  the  tread  of  their  retreating  feet  marked  the 
passage  through  the  blackness.  Jean  fell  back 
beside  Howland,  the  huge  bulk  of  the  bearded 
man  three  paces  ahead.  A  dozen  steps  more  anc1 
they  came  to  a  stair  down  which  a  light  shone 
The  Frenchman's  hand  fell  detainingly  OD 
Hcwland's  arm,  and  when  a  moment  later  they 
reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  all  had  disappeared 
296 


MELEESE 

but  Jean  and  the  bearded  man.  Dawn  was  break 
ing,  and  a  pale  light  fell  through  the  two  win 
dows  of  the  room  they  had  entered.  On  a  table 
burned  a  lamp,  and  near  the  table  were  severa' 
chairs.  To  one  of  these  Croisset  motioned  the  en" 
gineer,  and  as  Rowland  sat  down  the  bearded 
man  turned  slowly  and  passed  through  a  door. 
Jeun  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  the  other  disap 
peared. 

"Mon  Dieu,  that  means  that  he  leaves  it  all  to 
me,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  don't  wonder  that  it  is 
hard  for  him  to  talk,  M'seur.  Perhaps  you  have 
begun  to  understand !" 

"Yes,  a  little,"  replied  Howland.  His  heart 
was  throbbing  as  if  he  had  just  finished  climbing 
a  long  hill.  "That  was  the  man  who  tried  to  kill 
me.  But  Meleese — the — "  He  could  go  no  fur 
ther.  Scarce  breathing,  he  waited  for  Jean  to 
speak. 

"It  is  Pierre  Thoreau,"  he  said,  "eldest  brothel 
to  Meleese.  It  is  he  who  should  say  what  I  am 
about  to  tell  you,  M'seur.  But  he  is  too  full  of 
297 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

grief  to  speak.  You  wonder  at  that?  And  yet  1 
tell  you  that  a  man  with  a  better  soul  than  Pierre 
Thoreau  never  lived,  though  three  times  he  has 
tried  to  kill  you.  Do  you  remember  what  you 
asked  me  a  short  time  ago,  M'seur — if  I  thought 
that  you  were  the  John  Rowland  who  murdered 
the  father  of  Meleese  sixteen  years  ago?  God's 
saints,  and  I  did  until  hardly  more  than  half  an 
hour  ago,  when  some  one  came  from  the  South 
and  exploded  a  mine  under  our  feet.  It  was  the 
youngest  of  the  three  brothers.  M'seur  we  have 
made  a  great  mistake,  and  we  ask  your  forgive 
ness." 

In  the  silence  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met 
across  the  table.  To  Howland  it  was  not  the 
thought  that  his  life  was  saved  that  came  with 
the  greatest  force,  but  the  thought  of  Meleese, 
the  knowledge  that  in  that  hour  when  all  seemed 
to  be  lost  she  was  nearer  to  him  than  ever.  He 
leaned  half  over  the  table,  his  hands  clenched,  his 
eyes  blazing.  Jean  did  not  understand,  for  he 
went  on  quickly. 

298 


MELEESE 

"I  know  it  is  hard,  M'seur.  Perhaps  it  will  be 
impossible  for  you  to  forgive  a  thing  like  this. 
We  have  tried  to  kill  you — kill  you  by  a  slow  tor< 
hire,  as  we  thought  you  deserved.  But  think  fof 
a  moment,  M'seur,  of  what  happened  up  here  six 
teen  years  ago  this  winter.  I  have  told  you  how 
I  choked  life  from  the  man-fiend.  So  I  would  have 
choked  life  from  you  if  it  had  not  been  for  Me- 
leese.  I,  too,  am  guilty.  Only  six  ye^rs  ago  we 
knew  that  the  right  John  Howland — trie  son  of 
the  man  I  slew — was  in  Montreal,  and  we  sent  to 
seek  him  this  youngest  brother,  for  he  had 
been  a  long  time  at  school  with  Meleese  and 
knew  the  ways  of  the  South  better  than  the  oth 
ers.  But  he  failed  to  find  him  at  that  time,  and  it 
was  only  a  short  while  ago  that  this  brother  lo 
cated  you. 

"As  Our  Blessed  Lady  is  my  witness,  M'seur, 
it  is  not  strange  that  he  should  have  taken  yoi> 
for  the  man  we  sought,  for  it  is  singular  that  yo\) 
bear  him  out  like  a  brother  in  looks,  as  I  remenv 
ber  the  boy.  It  is  true  that  Fra^ois  made  a 
299 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

great  error  when  he  sent  word  to  his  brothers 
•suggesting  that  if  either  Gregson  or  Thorne  was 
put  out  of  the  way  you  would  probably  be  sent 
into  the  North.  I  swear  by  the  Virgin  that  Me- 
leese  knew  nothing  of  this,  M'seur.  She  knew 
nothing  of  the  schemes  by  which  her  brothers 
drove  Gregson  and  Thorne  back  into  the  South. 
They  did  not  wish  to  kill  them,  and  yet  it  was 
necessary  to  do  something  that  you  might  replace 
one  of  them,  M'seur.  They  did  not  make  a  move 
alone  but  that  something  happened.  Gregson 
lost  a  finger.  Thorne  was  badly  hurt — as  you 
know.  Bullets  came  through  their  window  at 
night.  With  Jackpine  in  their  employ  it  was 
easy  to  work  on  them,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
they  sent  down  asking  for  another  man  to  replace 
them." 

For  the  first  time  a  surge  of  anger  swept 
through  Rowland. 

"The  cowards !"  he  exclaimed.  "A  pretty  pair, 
Croisset — to  crawl  out  from  under  a  trap  to  let 
another  in  at  the  top !" 

300 


MELEESE 

"Perhaps  nob  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Jean. 
"They  were  given  to  understand  that  they — and 
they  alone — were  not  wanted  in  the  country.  H 
may  be  that  they  did  not  think  harm  would  com*. 
to  you,  and  so  kept  quiet  about  what  had  hap 
pened.  It  may  be,  too,  that  they  did  not  like  to 
have  it  known  that  they  were  running  away  from 
danger.  Is  not  that  human,  M'seur?  Anyway, 
you  were  detailed  to  come,  and  not  until  then  did 
Meleese  know  of  all  that  had  occurred." 

The  Frenchman  stopped  for  a  moment.  The 
glare  had  faded  from  Rowland's  eyes.  The  tense 
lines  in  his  face  relaxed- 

"I — I — believe  I  understand  everything  now, 
Jean,"  he  said.  "You  traced  the  wrong  John 
Rowland,  that's  all.  I  love  Meleese,  Jean.  I 
would  kill  j  ohn  Howland  for  her.  I  want  to  meet 
her  brothers  and  shake  their  hands.  I  don't  blame 
them.  They're  men.  But,  somehow,  it  hurts  t< 
think  of  her — of  Meleese — as — as  almost  a  mur 
derer." 

"Mon  Dieut  M'seur,  has  she  not  i^«re 
301 


THE   DANGER   TRAIL 

lifeh  Listen  to  this !  It  was  then — when  she  knew 
what  had  happened — that  Meleese  came  to  me— 
idiom  she  had  made  the  happiest  man  in  the  world 
because  it  was  she  who  brought  my  Mariane  ovei 
from  Churchill  on  a  visit  especially  that  I  might 
see  her  and  fall  in  love  with  her,  M'seur — which 
I  did.  Meleese  came  to  me — to  Jean  Croisset — » 
and  instead  of  planning  your  murder,  M'seur, 
she  schemed  to  save  your  life — with  me — who 
would  have  cut  you  into  bits  no  larger  than  my 
finger  and  fed  you  to  the  carrion  ravens,  who 
would  have  choked  the  life  out  of  you  until  your 
eyes  bulged  in  death,  as  I  choked  that  one  up  oa 
the  Great  Slave !  Do  you  understand,  M'seur  ?  It 
was  Meleese  who  came  and  pleaded  with  me  to 
save  your  life — before  you  had  left  Chicago,  be 
fore  she  had  heard  more  of  you  than  your  name, 
before—" 

Croisset  hesitated,  and  stopped. 

"Be/ore  what,  Jean?" 

"Before  she  had  learned  to  love  you,  M'seur/ 

"God  bless  her !"  exclaimed  Rowland. 
302 


MELEESE 

believe  this,  M'seur?" 

"As  I  believe  in  a  God." 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  what  she  did,  M'seur,'*  fa 
£ontinued  in  a  low  voice.  "The  plan  of  thl 
brothers  was  to  make  you  a  prisoner  near  Prince 
Albert  and  bring  you  north.  I  knew  what  was  to 
happen  then.  It  was  to  be  a  beautiful  vengeance, 
M'seur — a  slow  torturing  death  on  the  spot 
where  the  crime  was  committed  sixteen  years  ago. 
But  Meleese  knew  nothing  of  this.  She  was  made 
to  believe  that  up  here,  where  the  mother  and  fa 
ther  died,  you  would  be  given  over  to  the  proper 
law — to  the  mounted  police  who  come  this  way 
now  and  then.  She  is  only  a  girl,  M'seur,  easily 
made  to  believe  strange  things  in  such  matters 
as  these,  else  she  would  have  wondered  why  you 
were  not  given  to  the  officers  in  Prince  Albert.  It 
was  the  eldest  brother  who  thought  of  her  as  9 
lure  to  bring  you  out  of  the  town  int(r  theij 
hands,  and  not  until  the  last  moment,  when  the} 
were  ready  to  leave  for  the  South,  did  she  over* 
hear  words  that  aroused  her  suspicions  that  thej 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

were  about  to  kill  you.    It  was  then,  M'seur,  tha* 
he  came  to  me." 
"And  you,  Jean  ?" 

"On  the  day  that  Mariane  promised  to  become 
my  wife,  M'seur,  I  promised  in  Our  Blessed 
Lady's  name  to  repay  my  debt  to  Meleese,  and 
the  manner  of  payment  came  in  this  fashion. 
Jackpine,  too,  was  her  slave,  and  so  we  worked 
together.  Two  hours  after  Meleese  and  her 
brothers  had  left  for  the  South  I  was  following 
them,  shaven  of  beard  and  so  changed  that  I  was 
not  recognized  in  the  fight  on  the  Great  North 
Trail.  Meleese  thought  that  her  brothers  woul^ 
make  you  a  prisoner  that  night  without  harming 
you.  Her  brothers  told  her  how  to  bring  you  to 
their  camp.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  ambush  un 
til  they  leaped  on  you  from  cover.  Not  unti? 
after  the  fight,  when  in  their  rage  at  your  escape 
the  Brothers  told  her  that  they  had  inteQded  tc 
kill  you,  did  she  realize  fully  what  she  had  done. 
That  is  all,  M'seur.  You  know  what  happened 
after  that.  She  dared  not  tell  you  at 
304 


MELEESE 

tfho  your  enemies  were,  for  those  enemies  were  of 
her  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  dearer  to  her  than 
life.  She  was  between  two  great  loves,  M'seur— 
the  love  for  her  brothers  and — " 

Again  Jean  hesitated. 

"And  her  love  for  me,"  finished  Howland. 

"Yes,  her  love  for  you,  M'seur." 

The  two  men  rose  from  the  table,  and  for  a 
moment  stood  with  clasped  hands  in  the  smoky 
light  of  lamp  and  dawn.  In  that  moment  neither 
heard  a  tap  at  the  door  leading  to  the  room  be 
yond,  nor  saw  the  door  move  gently  inward,  and 
Meleese,  hesitating,  framed  in  the  opening. 

It  was  Howland  who  spoke  first. 

"I  thank  God  that  all  these  things  have  hap 
pened,  Jean,"  he  said  earnestly.  "I  am  glad  that 
for  a  time  you  took  me  for  that  other  John  How- 
land,  and  that  Pierre.  Thoreau  and  his  brothers 
Schemed  to  kill  me  at  Prince  Albert  and  We- 
kusko,  for  if  these  things  had  not  occurred  as 
they  have  I  would  never  have  seen  Meleese.  Anc* 
now,  Jean — " 

305 


THE    DANGER    TRAIL 

Hi«  ears  caught  sound  of  movement  »  and  IA 
turned  in  tkne  to  see  Meleese  slipping  quietly  out 

"Meleese  !"  he  called  softly.  "Meleese  !" 

In  an  instant  he  had  darted  after  her,  leaving 
Jean  beside  the  table.  Beyond  the  door  there  was 
only  the  breaking  gloom  of  the  gray  morning. 
but  it  was  enough  for  him  to  see  faintly  the  fig 
ure  of  the  girl  he  loved,  half  turned,  half  waiting 
for  him.  With  a  cry  of  joy  he  sprang  forward 
ind  gathered  her  close  in  his  arms. 

"Meleese  —  my  Meleese  —  "  he  whispered. 

After  that  there  came  no  sound  from  the 
dawn-lit  room  beyond,  but  Jean  Croisset,  still 
standing  by  the  table,  murmured  softly  to  him 
self:  "Our  Blessed  Lady  be  praised,  for  it  is  ail 
as  Jean  Croisset  would  have  it  —  and  DOW  I  can  go 
to  my  Mariane  !" 


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